Circle
by whitelite
Summary: Set during PB, will continue through COR. Trippy at times. People play hero, with varying degrees of success.
1. Chapter 1

(AN) My first fanfic. Kinda exciting. Dreams/thoughts in italics. Be warned, it's rather trippy.

_She was falling._

_Or floating?_

_No, not floating. It only seemed that way because she couldn't feel—not her wounds, not gravity, just a nice sort of numbness. But she was defiantly falling—there were those damn stairs, and the cold (not that she could tell) floor, and lots of people just watching. Most looked impassive; some, mildly depressed. Most were beautiful, but it was a cold, dead beauty._

_She wondered why she noticed these things._

_She heard a man's voice, then her own, but she couldn't make out the words. Then came a female whisper._

"_Let there be pain."_

_Agony. Searing. Hot and sharp and white and cold. Stabbing and ripping and violating and purifying…_

_She was seated next to a pretty blonde, a friend of sorts. She hadn't seen her in years._

"_What're you doing here?" she asked. The other woman shrugged. _

"_It's your subconscious, you tell me." For a moment, they rested in companionable silence. "This what you expected?"_

"_I know better than to expect."_

"_You should fix things. At least give it a try."_

"_Like you did?"_

"_Hey, I got my shit together eventually. C'mon. You game?"_

_She shrugged. "What the hell."_

Her hands jerked out and hit metal walls. Her eyes snapped open to find flashing red lights—alarm lights—pulsing on the faces of the people around her. So many people. The woman realized where she was, and for the first time in a long time she let herself panic.

X

_Long time for something to go wrong…_

The alarms interrupted his monologue. He would have smiled if it weren't for the bit in his mouth.

There was banging coming from somewhere to his left—someone was awake, and not happy about it. He thought it might be the woman. Not the prospector, the other one. The one that smelled like cinnamon and slam tea.

There was silence, then a hard thud. She'd gotten out.

X

"_Fuck_!" the pilot's shriek echoed in his ears. Owens turned away from the door he had jammed.

"Seventy seconds, Fry! You still got seventy seconds to level this beast out!" It was out of his hands now. He sat down, strapped up. He thought of his brother, waiting to meet him at their destination. For just a moment, he regretted his actions.

No. He'd done right.

X

She hated cryosleep. They said it was nothing, literally. That you'd close your eyes in one place, open them in another and it would be like no time had passed. That you might be disoriented for a bit, but it wouldn't last. They said you _never_ dreamed.

They lied.

_She ran through a city full of monsters. Something grabbed her wrist. She screamed and jerked away. Her eyes saw a woman, but her mind said scales and fangs and dripping venom._

"_Why are you running, darling?"_

_There was a gun in her hand. She brought it up and tried to pull the trigger, but it wouldn't budge._

_The woman-thing tutted. "What a naughty girl, trying to shoot your mother."_

_She turned and ran again. "Audrey!" came the call from behind her. "Audrey!"_

_Other creatures took it up. "Audrey! Audrey!" The name echoed across that strange city. It rang in her ears, kept her moving. She couldn't pause, not with that name waiting to consume her._

"_Jack." A single whisper. She turned towards it. There was a man. Her eyes saw vicious horns and bloody eyes and fingers that formed talons, but her mind said human._

"_Come inside," he said, and she followed him through a doorway. Inside it was dark. "You shouldn't be here."_

_She wasn't sure why, but that pissed her off. "I can take care of myself."_

"_Someday," he replied. She glared at him—he stared calmly back, and for an instant she lost herself to the crimson swirl of his gaze. He blinked._

"_What are you?" she asked. _

_He laughed. "I'm a nightmare, girl. We all are. Even you, at times." He reached out, ran dark talons through her short hair. "I'm going to miss you," he told her wistfully._

"_I'm going to stop dreaming?"_

"_No. You'll just have different nightmares."_

X

Johns shook his head, disoriented. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Riddick's grimacing face. Still locked up good.

He should have relaxed, but something was wrong. Very wrong. He released the security harness and stumbled out of his locker. There was a dark haired woman leaning against a locker a few down from him. Their eyes met for a moment, then were torn apart as the ship shook.

He stumbled again, and cursed as his knee slammed to the floor. He looked up in time to see the woman slide down the door, pull her knees to her chest, and wrap her arms around them. He crawled over to her as the ship's vibrations increased. She flinched away at first, then held very still. He wondered what she was thinking.

"You know what's going on?" he asked, almost yelling to be heard. She said something, but he shook his head, pointing at his ears.

"We're crashing," she shouted.

"Fuck," he muttered. Before he had time to say more, the hull tore.

X

Riddick felt his locker start to tip.

X

Fry ducked, spinning her chair backward and flinging her arms over her head.

X

_Jack's nightmare taught her to play Russian Roulette. Eyes on him, she put the barrel to her head and pulled the trigger_.

X

They crashed.


	2. Chapter 2

She woke lying on her side. It was dark. Jack tried to roll over but stopped when she felt straps tugging on her chest. She frowned, ran her hands over them. After a long moment, it clicked. _Safety harness…_ She was in a cryolocker. One that had been turned on its side—the door, with its window, must have been facing a wall. She found the release on the harness and shoved it away from her. Then she tried the door, not really expecting it to work. It didn't. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. _Shit, are these things airtight? _

She had no idea if they were, or how long she'd been out—or how much air she might have left.

"I'm in here!" she yelled, then kicked the side. "Will someone get me the fuck outta here?" Her voice broke on the words. Taking another breath, she screamed. The noise seemed deafening in the small space. She pounded her fists into the sheet of metal about her. Someone would hear her. Someone would.

_What if there's no one to hear? _She tried to push the thought away, but she could _see_ it—miles and miles of debris and mangled bodies, and the only thing alive a girl who looked like a boy trapped in the box from Hell.

She didn't know what to do, so she screamed again and kicked at the walls.

_Thud_. Jack paused. That one had come from outside. She listened hard, praying. When she didn't hear anything else, she started her banging again.

_Thud_. This time she felt the locker shift slightly with the force of the blow.

There was defiantly someone out there. She couldn't think of a way to communicate with them, so she calmed herself down and hoped they were trying to get her out. It seemed like she lay there for years.

There was a loud hissing noise—it sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. She listened as it traveled around the edges of her locker—then one of the sides was yanked off and she rolled out.

She blinked and squinted in the sudden light. "So, I guess something went wrong?"

There were two women and a man standing above her. "Guess something did," the man agreed. Jack decided she liked his accent. "I'm gonna see if I can find any more survivors," he added, addressing the older of the two women.

"Good idea."

_Their accent_, Jack corrected herself. He walked away and Jack sat up, studying the women. The one with the accent looked to be in her thirties, with dark, curly hair. Well, they both had dark, curly hair. But hers was real black—the younger one's was just dark brown.

"I'm Shazza," said the first, crouching down next to her. "And that was me man, Zeke."

"Jack," she replied, then looked at the other woman. There was an expectant silence.

Finally her lips twitched into a small smile. "Call me Lynn."

"So where are we?" Jack asked.

Lynn held out a hand and, when she took it, hauled her to her feet. "Let's find out." That was when they heard the cries of pain. They came running and found the captain, holding one of her officers. There was a spike through his chest. Nothing they could do.

Jack _hated_ that feeling.

"Get out!" commanded the captain. With a shrug, Lynn obeyed, and Jack followed her. What else was there to do? Lynn didn't acknowledge her—she didn't seem to be much of a talker.

They turned a corner and Jack froze. There was a man there, in a blindfold and chains—there was even one in his mouth, locking his face in a snarl.

If 'man' was the right word. He sure as hell wasn't like any man _she'd_ ever seen. He was like… like the panther she'd glimpsed once, locked in a cage. Feral and angry and vicious, but also graceful and strong and so damn _beautiful_.

_Something like that shouldn't be locked up, _she thought angrily. _If it's a threat- _and Jack was smart enough to admit that both panther and man might be threats _–then just stay away from it. Ain't right, trapping all that power in a cage._

Lynn was searching through the piles of rubble surrounding him.

"What're you doing?" Jack asked, moving to her side.

"Dropped something," she replied.

Jack nodded, not really listening, then asked the question she really wanted answered. "Who's he?" she kept her voice low, so he wouldn't hear her.

"That's Riddick," Lynn told her in a normal tone. His turned his head toward them, and Jack jumped. Lynn smirked a little and continued digging.

"Why's he locked up?" Jack whispered.

Lynn's smirk spread to a mocking grin, though Jack wasn't sure which of the three were being mocked.

"Cause he got caught."

X

Riddick snorted softly. Cause he got caught? It was the truth, when you got right down to it, but it wasn't what most people told impressionable younglings.

"But…" the boy started quietly. Riddick could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. "But, who caught him?"

"Johns."

"Johns?"

"Yeah. You know—blue eyes, red hair, big gun? Johns."

" Why?" The kid had given up on trying to keep his voice down.

Riddick waited, amused, to hear the woman's response.

"'Cause—help me with this?—cause it's his job." They both grunted, and he heard something large scrape against the floor as they dragged it.

One of them wiped off their hands, then the boy said, "So… does getting chained to poles pay well?"

Riddick laughed softly through the bit—the kid jumped again.

"No," said the woman slowly. Riddick would have bet she was having a hard time not laughing, too. "No, but chaining _other_ people to poles can pay very well. I was still talking about Johns."

"But—"

"You know gossip's rude, right?"

The boy sputtered.

_Who is this chick? _Riddick wondered. She was sure weird as hell.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before the kid asked sullenly, "What're we even looking for?"

"A tool."

"Descriptive," he muttered. "This?"

"No."

The kid tossed whatever it was he held to the floor. Riddick turned his head and just managed to glimpse it through a tear in his blindfold.

A torch.

"_Shit_. Lynn, look at this."

"That'd be what we're looking for," the woman—Lynn—said.

"What the fuck kinda tool is that thing?"

"A useful one. C'mon, Jack."

He heard them leave. He looked at the torch again, then glanced up the pole. Broken.

Perfect.


	3. Chapter 3

(AN) Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed. You make me so happy.

He left his restraints toward sunset, then circled around and headed toward sunrise. Johns might pick up on that—he'd been on his ass for awhile now. Then again, doped up like he was, he might not. Hell, the merc might not even bother to come after him. He'd have to go back to the ship at some point—even Riddick couldn't survive the desert with no food, no water, and damn little oxygen.

He took a quick break, leaning against one of the stone formations. Things looked almost like termite mounds, but not even termites would make a home of this rock. He closed his eyes for a moment—the light was giving him a headache, even through the goggles.

This was so freakin' typical of his life. Get a shine to break out of slam. Break out of slam…end up crashing on a planet with three suns. Point to God. At the moment, it looked like the Almighty Bastard was in the lead.

He'd have to fix that.

He straightened, glanced around. Kept moving. He figured he'd been walking maybe thirty minutes when he saw what looked like trees on the horizon. His throat itched at the thought of water. He sped up.

X

"Y'all stay here," Johns commanded, gesturing at Shazza, Zeke, and Paris. "See what else you can salvage."

_Who put him in charge?_ Jack wondered unhappily. She didn't like the cop. It wasn't anything he'd done, wasn't his fault. More of his parents' fault, really—he looked a lot like one of her nastier foster fathers.

Lynn came out of the ship, tugging her hair up into a tail. Jack studied her, wondering what she'd done with her 'tool'—the wicked looking blade they'd dug out of the rubble. It didn't look like she was carrying it, but Jack figured if she knew how to use something like that, she probably knew how to carry concealed.

Johns turned to her. "What about you?" he asked. "Staying or going?"

She glanced at Zeke, at Shazza. "I'll stay."

"Me too," inserted Jack. Shazza smiled at her.

"Right," said Johns. He pulled a gun from its holster at his waist, checked it, and handed it to Zeke. "Saftey's on. One shot if you spot him."

"What if Mr. Riddick spots us first?" asked Paris.

Johns laughed shortly. "There'll be no shots."

There was an uneasy silence. Fry broke it. "Let's get moving then."

X

Imam kept an eye on his three charges as they walked along. He had considered leaving them back at the ship, which was at least marginally safer, but they'd been so excited about the Sign, as they called the third sun.

The others thought him a little off his rocker, if their reactions to that declaration were anything to go by. He understood why—it was hard to have faith. But important—even if you were an atheist, like Zeke. What was there to hold onto in life, if you didn't have faith in _something_?

Ahead of him, the boys were practicing the English he'd taught them. "De-sert," they murmured under their breaths. "Ship. Capi-tan."

X

Riddick found a good piece of bone, about the right size. It'd been chipped off a larger piece, so he didn't need to worry about the marrow making it weak. Then he found a nicely balanced stone, started chipping it into the shape he wanted.

As he worked, he considered the people he might end up using it on. Johns. That was a good thought, right there. Merc'd had it coming for a long time.

The pilot, the one who'd wanted to know if he was _really_ dangerous.

The two anonymous bushwackers. He didn't know much about them, cared less. Same went for the timid, pompous one, and the pilgrims.

The last two were more interesting. The boy, Jack—full of questions, fascinated by the convict. Probably not healthy. And Lynn. Didn't quite know what to make of that one.

He wondered how many of them he'd have to kill to stay free.

X

"Find anything?" Shazza asked as Lynn reappeared from wherever she'd wandered off to.

The younger woman smiled. "Three working flashlights," she replied, setting them down.

Shazza laughed. "What we need those for? Case you didn't notice, darling, there's three bloody suns out there!"

The smile faded. "I did notice."

Shazza felt bad—Lynn'd been trying to help, after all. "Oh, well. We'll be able to use the batteries for something, I'm sure," she said.

X

Fry wandered through the canyon of skeletons, feeling very alone. They all looked at her and assumed she could do no wrong. She was their _captain_. Automatic authority—she'd know what to do, right?

Wrong.

It should have been Owens who survived. He'd keep his head, he'd know how to save them. He might have been able to fix the com system or something. She was just a docking pilot. She was clueless.

And, deep down, she was a vicious bitch. She knew that now. She'd been willing to sacrifice forty—_forty_—people, to save a life she wasn't overly fond of anyway.

She leaned against a giant ribcage, thinking of the people she'd tried to murder.

Johns, who actually did seem to know what he was doing. Of course, he could be putting on a front, same as her.

Riddick, Johns's prisoner. The murderer. It might have been better for everyone if she _had_ killed him. Maybe even better for him, if the things she'd heard about slam were true.

Imam, with his boys, on their Hajj. A good man, who went out his way to care for others.

Paris. He didn't seem to do much, but could be dubbed useful because he'd brought the booze.

Shazza and Zeke. The two were so practical, yet so obviously in love. They fit together, seamless. One unit.

Jack, a runaway, trying to be tough. He had curiosity, brains, guts. So much potential. If he had come from somewhere where they nourished potential, he would have gone far. As it was…

Last, Lynn. Quiet, but not shy, thin in a way that Carolyn would bet came from not always knowing when she'd eat, rather than watching what she ate. She had a hard edge to her.

Fry remembered the feel of that damn handle, slick with the sweat from her hand. Worst part was, she wasn't sure she wouldn't do it again.

She jumped slightly, when she looked up to see Johns, but she took the bottle he offered. "Probably a bad idea," she said as she drank. "Dehydrates you even more."

He snorted. "Probably right." He pauses then adds, "You probably shoulda stayed back. You know what happens if we don't find water…"

"No. I wanted to get away."

"Never seen a captain so eager to leave her ship." It was like his eyes were looking into her head.

She tried to hold back, but he cracked her like an egg. He didn't seem shocked or angry or disgusted, and it felt good to share the guilt with somebody.

X

Zeke wiped his forehead and took a hit of O2. He'd stretched a tarp over the pit he was digging to keep off the worst of the sun, but he didn't like being under it. Couldn't see a bloody thing, and with that animal loose, seeing was bloody important. Paris was supposed to be on lookout, but Zeke thought he was probably treating it as his 'cocktail hour'. Didn't realize, or didn't care, that it was a life or death kinda job.

It looked deep enough. He clambered out of the hole, and pulled back the tarp. He rolled the bodies in haphazardly, trying not to remember that they had been people once. When the sled was empty, he put the tarp back over the grave and started back for more.

He froze, staring up at the ship. Paris wasn't in his spot.

_Probably skipped out_, he thought, trying to convince himself.

He heard something. Heavy footsteps.

Shazza. Where the bloody hell was Shazza?

He turned the corner, saw her, and Jack, and Paris, and _him_.

_No! _he thought, grabbing for the gun, fumbling with the safety. He brought it up—

--and something slammed into him. He fell to his knees, the shot went wild. He twisted around, found himself pointing the weapon at Lynn.

"What the fuck!" he yelled.

"It's not him," she answered, voice soft and insistent. "It's not Riddick."

He turned to the man he had almost shot. She was right. "Who are you?" he asked, dropping the gun.

"Name's Patrick," the man replied. "You're not gonna kill me, are you?"

X

Riddick watched from Paris's chair. He smirked, took a gulp of wine. In the chaos following the almost-shooting, no one thought to look up.

He slipped away before Paris returned, following Lynn and the male bushwhacker, who were apparently going back to burying bodies.

The bodies didn't interest him. What did were the breathers both wore around their necks.

He heard them pull back the tarp, then mutter, "What the--"

"Careful, Zeke," Lynn warned. The words were barely out of her mouth when Riddick heard the man drop into the grave. A moment later, she followed. "I don't think—"

Zeke screamed. Riddick moved to the side of the pit, staring.

Zeke was halfway inside a hole. Lynn had a shiv in one hand, was tugging at Zeke's leg with the other. She had blood on her face.

_Something_ was tugging back

She dropped the blade, wrapped both arms around Zeke and pulled with all her weight. Desperate, she glanced around. Saw him.

"Help!" she shrieked. "Get your fuckin' ass down here and _help_ me!"

He moved on instinct. Dropped down beside her, put away his own shiv, grabbed her's, and started looking for something to cut. Grabbed a handful of Zeke's shirt and tugged, trying to get at whatever had a hold of him. The shirt ripped; his hand came back covered in blood.

Lynn slipped, lost her hold.

Zeke was gone.

"Fuck," she whispered. "Oh, fuck."

"Out," Riddick commanded, looking at the hole that had just eaten a man. He grabbed the back of Lynn's shirt and hoisted her up, practically flew up himself.

"Zeke!" Shazza.

They spun. The woman was wide-eyed, angry, panicked. Riddick met her eyes, saw accusation in them.

_Shit. _He took off.

"Son of a _bitch_," Lynn yelled the next second. He heard her chasing him, put on the speed.

She fell back, but not as far as he expected.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. Ran into Johns.

Instinctively, he swung at the merc with the shiv he still held. It suddenly occurred to him what she had wanted.

Johns grabbed his goggles, knocked the blade from his hand. Then Lynn was there, grabbing for it. Merc hit her, too.

Shazza, hysterical. "What did you do to him? What did you do to Zeke?" Someone grabbed her arms, trying to hold her back. "Kill him. Just kill him before he—"

He didn't see her foot coming.

Black.


	4. Chapter 4

(AN) Thanks for the reviews! Please, keep them coming--you motivate me to actually sit down and work on this.

He shifted, felt cool metal pull at his wrists. Chains.

_Shit_.

He wasn't wearing his goggles, so he was cautious when he opened his eyes. The spot where he sat wasn't as shadowed as he would have liked, but if he squinted it didn't hurt too bad. He lifted his head, looked around.

Lynn sat across from him, handcuffed to the stairwell.

"Mornin'," she said.

"Nice bracelets," he told her.

"Yeah." She rattled the cuffs. "Johns hit me, I hit back, he got pissy."

"Thought the others liked you."

She shrugged. "They mighta. Before I got Zeke's blood all over me."

It was still all over her, he noticed. Dried flecks on her face and neck, probably in her hair. Larger smears on her arms. "You know we'd both be free now, if you hadn't wanted to play hero."

She laughed dryly. "I _knew_ there was a reason I hate being the good guy. Thanks for the reminder."

He wondered how she could look so young and so cynical at the same time.

"I been out long?" he asked.

She shrugged again. "Not too long. Hour, hour and a half?"

He nodded, and they fell silent. Few minutes later, Johns was in to interrogate them.

X

Shazza didn't cry. Waste of water. He hated waste.

Had. He _had_ hated waste. Past tense.

_Fuck…_ It hit her then. He was gone. Gone.

Imam put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a concerned, caring looked.

She was breathing hard. She couldn't get air. She tried to slow her lungs, closed her eyes, but painted onto her eyelids was a vision of crimson. Bright, shocking crimson, crimson that practically glowed in the light from these damned suns. Blood. So much blood.

His blood.

She screamed. Sank to her knees, to the ground. Imam followed her down, but he barely registered.

He was saying something, but she couldn't hear it over her own terrifying refrain. _He's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone…_

She shook, she raged and whimpered. She hit the dusty ground until her hands went numb.

But she did not cry a single tear.

X

Lynn would not have killed Zeke. Jack knew that, even if all the others had gone crazy. She would not have killed him, and she would not have stood by and let Riddick kill him.

The girl wasn't so sure about Riddick, but she figured he wouldn't have killed him without a good reason.

Imam had said to stay away from them. He'd said it without thinking, so sure she would listen. Like she was one of his charges. She wasn't. He didn't have the right to tell her what to do, not when she'd worked so hard to free herself.

She'd listen to Fry, since she was the captain. She'd listen to Lynn, because she was smart and strong and had saved a man's life. Maybe she'd listen to Riddick, because he obviously knew how to survive. But Imam? What had Imam done to earn it?

Still, she went around the back way, so he wouldn't see her. She didn't want a lecture.

She was easing down the stairs when Fry came storming in, looking mad as hell.

"So where's the body?" she demanded, directing the words at Riddick. Jack decided to sit back and watch the show. Below her, Lynn crossed her legs—apparently she'd had the same idea.

Riddick stayed silent, head down.

"You wanna tell me about the sounds?" More silence. "Look, I talked to Johns. He said you told him you were trying to help. That you'd heard something…" More silence. "Fine. That's _fine_. You don't want to talk to me, your choice, but just so you know…" there was a pause, and Jack saw her turn to look at Lynn. "There's a debate right now on whether we should just leave the two of you here to die."

Jack tensed. They couldn't. They _couldn't_. _Even if they do, _she decided, _I'll get them out,_** I **_won't leave them…_

Fry started to walk away.

Finally, Riddick responded. "You mean the whispers?"

Fry stopped, turned back. "What whispers?" she asked, almost whispering herself.

"The ones tellin' me to go for the sweet spot—just to the left of the spine, forth lumbar down, the abdominal aorta."

Jack shivered with something that wasn't fear, or not quite. She wasn't sure what the feeling was, but she leaned forward, hoping for more.

"It's a metallic taste, human blood. Copperish. If you cut if with Peppermint Schnapps, that goes away quick—"

"You want to shock me with the truth now?" the woman interrupted, sounded disgusted.

Riddick paused, cocked his head to one side. "All you people are so scared of me. Most days, I'd take that as a compliment. But it ain't me you gotta worry about now."

"Show me your eyes, Riddick," Fry commanded.

Jack blinked. _Where'd that come from?_

"You'd have to come a lot closer for that."

Hesitantly, Fry moved. So did Jack, easing down the stairs for a better view.

"Closer."

Even knowing the command wasn't for her, Jack followed. She felt strange. Almost intoxicated.

Chains clanged as Riddick slammed upward. Fry jumped. Jack didn't. Instead, she moved down onto the last step. _Closer_. Lynn glanced up at her, her face shadowed and unreadable. Jack barely noticed.

Then silver eyes met her green ones, and she couldn't look away. The first thing that came into her head flew out her mouth.

"Where the hell can I get eyes like that?"

"You gotta kill a few people."

"'Kay, I can do it," she replied, stepping off the stairs, moving around Lynn. _Closer_.

"Then you gotta get sent to a slam where they tell you you'll never see daylight again. You dig up a doctor. You pay him twenty Menthol Kools to do a surgical shine job on your eyeballs."

Jack felt a strangely wicked smile slide onto her face. "So you can see who's sneaking up on you in the dark?"

He grinned back at her. "_Exactly_."

She was about to step even closer when Fry interrupted.

"_Leave_," she snarled. Three sets of eyes snapped to her face, and her voice softened slightly. "Leave."

Reluctantly, the girl turned to go.

"Jack," came Lynn's voice, making her pause. "Think you could go through Paris's shit, find me some new tools?"

Jack smiled again. "Sure." She made a lot of noise banging up the steps, then eased back down the first few.

"Cute kid," she heard Riddick say, sounding real amused. He probably figured she was still there. "Did I kill a few people? Sure. Did I kill Zeke? No. Ya got the wrong killer."

_Knew it,_ Jack thought.

"He's _not_ in the hole," Carolyn countered. "We looked."

"Look deeper."

If the captain responded, Jack missed it. The next thing she heard was a single pair of footsteps moving away.

A moment of quiet, then, "Tools, Lynn?"

Jack scampered off, grinning. She knew just the thing.

X

Fry glanced back at Shazza. The other woman's face was hard, her entire body tense and drawn. She was worried about how the widow would take this search, but figured it would be better for her to _know_.

"Let me tell you what I think happened," Johns snapped, interrupting her thoughts. "I think he went off on the guy, buried him in the hills somewhere, and now he's got you thinking there's something else out there."

_Would it kill you to be a bit more delicate?_ Fry wondered, thinking of Shazza again.

"Well, let's just be sure," was what she said out loud.

"Look, murders aside, Riddick belongs in the asshole hall of fame. He loves to jaw-jack, loves to make you feel afraid, 'cause that's all he has. You're playing right into it."

"I don't even know why I'm trying to explain this to you, Johns. You're a cop. For godsakes, we've gotta find his body."

The argument didn't end there, but a strange thought made it harder to focus on it. Find the body. Evidence was needed—innocent until proven guilty. Basic, right? So why _did_ she have to explain this to a cop?

X

Johns watched, frown on his face, as the pilot kneeled in the blood covered sand. He was right—this was about guilt. Not Riddick's though. Hers. She felt guilty for trying to off them, and was trying to make up for it by being all righteous now. Stupid. It'd been too long since he had a fix, and he was hurting. He didn't need to be standing in the sun watching some bimbo search an empty hole.

They waited. She was taking a hell of a long time.

Suddenly, the rope jerked. Imam frowned, started to reel her in. Then he stopped, passed the rope off to him, and jumped down.

"I thought I heard something."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, listening hard. Then Jack started wandering off.

"Where you going?" he asked.

The boy glanced back at him. "This way. I can hear her."

Kid was probably just looking for attention, but he followed anyway. Then he heard her too. He started running.

"Get over here!" he called over his shoulder.

The busted a hole in the spire she had climbed inside, reached in for her.

"Give me your goddamn hand," he demanded. They were all demanding things.

"What's down there, Fry?"

"I heard you first!"

"Did you find Zeke?"

She stood, bent over, panting, for a long moment before she responded.

"Fuck!" she yelled. "So fucking stupid. I don't know what the fuck those things are, but they got Zeke and they nearly got me--"

Her last word ended in a shriek as she flew backwards, ripped out of his hands. They chased her, caught her before she was pulled back down.

"Get it off of me, get it off of me!"

He managed to cut the rope, saw it slide back down into darkness. She collapsed, shaking, and the only thing he could think was _Of all the fucking times for Riddick to start telling the truth…_


	5. Chapter 5

She strode out of the wreckage a few steps behind Johns and the convict. Riddick. The one Zeke'd mistaken _him_ for. Kinda funny, that she'd saved him, then turned around and gotten accused of killing the would-be shooter.

Maybe 'funny' was a bad word.

Patrick shook his head, wondering, not for the first time, how anyone could mistake that pretty little thing for a killer. She was the type to go out of her way to help people, not to hurt them. Look what she'd done for him—tackled a big guy with a loaded gun. That took guts.

He headed towards her, ignoring the two men.

"Hey, Patrick," she greeted him, squinting in the sunlight.

He put his hand on her shoulder, gave it a friendly squeeze. "How you holding up?"

She gave him a surprised look. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had bothered to check up on her.

"Been better, I guess," she told him. "But I'll be fine."

"Good attitude," he said encouragingly.

She snorted. "I try." Then she moved away from him. "We should get going."

X

Everyone split, grabbing what they could from the crash before the trek to the settlement. Jack found Lynn up top, gazing out at the path of destruction their landing had created.

"What you doing?" she asked.

"Just thinking," Lynn replied.

"Oh," Jack said, sitting and studying the woman. Lynn wasn't _all_ that much older than she was, she realized, surprised. If she had to guess, the girl would say somewhere from eighteen to twenty-one. That was… six to nine years older than Jack.

"How old's Riddick?" Jack asked.

"Twenty-five," Lynn replied automatically. Then she gave Jack a puzzled look. "Why?"

"How do you know?" Jack asked, ignoring the question in favor of her own. In her head, she did the math. Twenty-five minus twelve. Thirteen years. _Damn_, that was a long time.

Lynn laughed. "I know a lotta shit. You got something for me, or you just here to interrogate me?"

Jack nodded, fished her prize from the bag she carried. Paris had tried to keep them from seeing it, hadn't offered to let anyone use it, though it was sure as hell a better weapon than those blow-dart things.

She pulled out the knife and Lynn laughed again.

"Wow," the woman said. "Don't think I've ever seen such a… glitzy blade."

"I think the gems are real," Jack replied, handing it to her. "That's why Paris didn't want anyone to have it. But it was the only actual knife I could find."

Lynn tossed it from one hand to the other a few times. "A bit hilt-heavy," she judged. "Gotta be all those stones. But it'll work. Thanks, Jack."

Jack smiled. "No problem."

X

It was far too hot for this kind of hike, Paris decided. Of course, hikes really were not his cup of tea, no matter _what_ the weather. Still.

He had fallen to the back—the only one behind him now was Riddick. He frowned, ignoring the slight shiver of fear that thought brought on, trying not to recall the words Jack had whispered when he'd snuck up on him.

"'_Cause that's how __**good**__ Riddick is_…"

_Ridiculous_, he told himself firmly. _He's not going to slice my throat in front of everyone here…_

"So can I talk to him now?" asked Jack ahead of him. God, the boy sounded eager.

"No," snapped Johns and Shazza simultaneously. Jack fell back, sulking.

Lynn reached out, snagged his arm. "Hey, you see all the junk he's carrying? Doubt he's in the mood for talking right now, anyway."

Jack shrugged. "Guess not."

Paris watched as the two fell into easy conversation, mildly impressed at how easily Lynn had diverted the child's attention.

His shoulder ached, so he switched his bag to the other side. A bottle fell and rolled away, but he kept walking for a second before it registered. When it did, he stopped with a groan.

"Blast," he muttered, running after it.

He skidded to a stop and grabbed for it just as the convict picked it up. Both men stood.

Paris wiped his hand on his shirt, held it out. "Paris P. Ogilvie. Antiquities dealer, entrepreneur." _No reason not to be polite…_

The other man studied him for a moment, then accepted the handshake. "Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict. Murderer."

He resisted the urge to jerk his hand back, and after a moment, Riddick dropped it.

"That's a particularly nice Shiraz. It-it-it's a lovely drop." He always stuttered when he was nervous. He hated it.

Riddick brought the bottle to his lips, but Paris hesitated, remembering Jack.

"_Probably get you right here, right under the jaw, and you'd never even hear him comin'…"_

"It-it's very expensive," he finally hinted. There was no reaction. "By all means, please, help yourself."

X

"I mean normally I can appreciate antiques, but this—this is something else."

_Thanks, Paris,_ Shazza thought_. Real optimistic_.

"It'll work," Johns insisted, though she doubted he had the knowledge to make that judgment.

Fry's words were more credible. "Nothing we can't repair as long as the electrical adapts."

"Well…" Shazza added, searching for something neutral, "… it's not a star jumper."

"Doesn't need to be," came the voice from behind her. She tensed, she couldn't help it. Everything about that man grated on her nerves. Even being fairly certain he hadn't killed her Zeke, she hated being near him.

All eyes were on Riddick, waiting. He continued. "Take a two-seater like this up to the Sol-Track shipping lanes. Stick out a thumb. Bound to get picked up." He turned to Fry. "Ain't that right, Captain."

The blonde woman just stared at him—Shazza was a bit relieved to see she wasn't the only one uneasy around the man. The killer.

"Can I get a little help here?" Carolyn finally snapped. Everyone, Riddick included, moved towards her almost reflexively.

Paris ended up grabbing the cell, and Johns sent Riddick off. She was glad.

X

Jack felt a trickle between her legs and froze.

_Aww, fuck…_

Of all times, of all goddamn times for this to happen.

She ran for one of the buildings, dashed inside. To make sure, she slipped a hand inside her pants. It came back bloody. _Shit_.

She wrenched open the first door she found, hoping it was the bathroom.

It was.

But Lynn was sitting on the counter.

For the second time in minutes, Jack found herself unable to move.

Lynn looked her over. Took in her horrified face, the blood on her fingers. She kicked open the cabinet under the sink and used her foot to nudge a package onto the floor.

"Looking for these?"

Jack glanced down. Sanitary napkins.

"How did you…"

Lynn shrugged. "Spent a long time on the streets, Jack. I know the signs. Even pulled that trick myself, for a while."

"But-"

"Relax, I won't tell," Lynn reassured her. She slipped from the counter, then around Jack and out the door. Jack hesitated, then pulled it shut behind her.

When she came out, Lynn was fiddling with a piece of broken glass from one of the windows. Jack watched her for a minute. She kept looking like she was gonna cut herself, but she kept… not.

"Hey," Jack muttered finally. "Thanks."

"No problem," Lynn replied, setting down the glass.

Jack ran her fingers through her hair, remembered what she'd been planning on doing before this little interruption.

"Umm… Lynn? You think I could borrow that knife? I'll get it back to you real quick."

Lynn grinned, and the girl wondered why exactly the request was funny.

X

Those first shining drops of moisture sent a thrill through his soul.

_Thank you, Allah! Thank you, _Imam thought, joyfully.

They had lost one, but perhaps it was Zeke's time. Now, they had water, they had sunlight, they had a ship and some provisions. Everything they needed.

They would make it out of here. They wouldn't lose any more.

(AN) Sorry, took me a while to get this one up. I'll try to do better. Big thanks once more to everyone who reviewed.

Femme: wow, I didn't even think of Dune while I was writing that. Which is weird, because I love the book. I've only read the original, but I keep meaning to get to the others. From what I've seen, Jack/Riddick fan fiction can either be really, really good, or really, really bad, not much in between. When done right, it's one of my favorite pairings. As for the relationships in this one... I think I'll take the 5th. I will say, they turn out different in the end than they first appear.


	6. Chapter 6

(AN) Yeah, so much for doing better. Sorry.

"We are getting there…"

Johns turned at the sound of Fry's voice. The women had gotten the cell hooked up, and the screens were on.

Fry started flipping switches. "So. We got enough power for a sys-check, but we'll still need more cells…"

She said it quietly enough that Johns wasn't sure if she was talking to them or herself. He decided to participate in the conversation anyway.

"How many we talking about?"

She muttered calculations under her breath. "So that'd be… five. Five total to launch."

_Shit. _"Thirty-five kilos each, huh?" Sounded like they'd need Riddick's help, and he didn't like the idea of having the convict getting too close to the cells when they were all in one spot.

"That's pretty heavy," Shazza said, and he nodded absently. "Hey, you know that old sand-cat out there? I think I _might_ be able to get it going."

Johns nodded, pleased that she'd turned to him. There was a definite advantage in being seen as a leader. "Yeah. Do it, if you can, but if you need a hand…" He paused, intending to point out where Riddick was working. He wasn't there.

_Aw, fuck. Just what we need._

X

Riddick walked around the side of building. He thought he had a good idea what had happened to the settlement's former inhabitants, but…

He caught a whiff of something familiar and paused, sniffing the air. There it was. Blood.

_Menstrual_ blood?

He pulled back the tarp slightly to expose the words 'coring room'. Then he took another breath—the scent didn't change.

He glanced around. He was pretty sure Fry and Shazza were still in the skiff. That left Lynn, but why would she be…

A whistle interrupted his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder, found the merc.

"You're missing the party." The bastard slapped his thigh as if he were a dog. "C'mon, boy." He didn't bother to wait for a response before going inside.

Riddick yanked the tarp down as he turned to follow. There was a sharp gasp. He looked back with a smirk, and stopped.

So. Not Lynn.

He studied Jack's shocked face, shorn hair, and cracked goggles, mentally rearranging what he knew about the kid. Surprised, he realized that _she_ was real pretty. Hell, she'd probably be one hot chick, someday. Assuming she lived that long.

But she defiantly had some idea how to stack the odds in her favor. She was a damn fine actress, and a hell of a lot safer cause of it. _Smart_ kid.

He realized he'd been staring for awhile, cocked his head at her. "Missing the party. C'mon."

As he walked away, he heard her whisper behind him.

"Aw, _man_."

He decided he liked the girl. He kinda hoped she'd make it.

X

Ali wandered around the shadowed room, wrench in hand. He might have been the youngest boy, but he was the bravest, too. The others hadn't explored in here. Even the tough one, the street boy, had only crouched beneath the tarp on the roof.

"Ali?" came a tense voice. "Ali, you in here?" A woman's voice.

He understood 'here'. That was one of the words the Imam had decided to teach them.

One of the women came into few. Ali didn't know their names, just that one was captain and one was a widow.

This was the last one, who was neither.

She said something else, but she spoke too fast. He thought she might have said 'here' again, but he wasn't sure.

She took his wrist, and he was surprised at the strength of her grip.

X

"These people didn't leave, c'mon," Riddick snapped, annoyed at the way the others avoided it. "Whatever got Zeke got them. They're all dead."

He pulled his goggles over his eyes, looked at them. They were staring at him like he'd just ghosted someone's pet or something.

"You don't really think they left their clothes on the hangers? Photos on the shelves?"

"They could have had weight limits," Shazza snapped.

"If there were, why'd they bring all that in the first place?" Jack asked quietly.

It was a good question. Shazza, apparently, didn't have a good answer.

"You don't know--" she started, but didn't seem to know how to finish.

Riddick laughed softly. "I know you don't prep your emergency ship unless there's a fuckin' emergency."

"He's fuckin' right," Jack agreed.

"Hey, you watch your mouth," Johns told her, as if a few cuss words were all they had to worry about.

"He's just saying what we're all thinking," Carolyn put in. Riddick had to give her points for that—he'd been starting to think the kid would be the only one with the guts to admit the obvious.

X

Both boy and woman glanced up as two panels of the ceiling shifted, letting in the sunlight.

The woman yelled something and dragged him to the ground. Panicked, Ali swung the wrench at her. She caught it and jerked it out of his grip as a swarm of _things_ blasted above their heads.

Ali couldn't get a full breath of air. His gaze darted around the room, then locked on a partly open doorway. He scrambled to his feet and ran for it. The things were on him, clawing and biting. He stumbled, sobbed, but made it to the door.

"Ali!" the woman yelled as he darted through and slammed it behind him. "Ali, no!"

That was the last voice he heard.

X

Imam yanked at the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"Ali!" he yelled. "Ali!"

"Back up," Johns commanded.

Shazza gripped his arm, pulled him out of the way, and Johns put two shots in the door. It swung open.

Imam rushed in, ignoring the hand on his shoulder urging caution.

Lynn was lying on the ground, trembling.

"Where?" he asked her.

She pointed at a door on the other side of the room. "Through there," she whispered, voice cracking.

The door was shaking. Imam approached it, then hesitantly reached for the handle, dreading what her face told him he would find.

X

She was leaning against a wall, legs drawn up to her chest, face buried in her knees. Her wavy hair hung limp in the dead air.

Riddick walked up to her slowly, letting her hear him. She didn't react. He crouched down next to her.

"You really wanna be a hero, don't you?" he asked.

She turned her face towards him. Her eyes, he noted, were dry, but very bleak. "Guess I ain't any good at it, am I?"

He shrugged. "You helped out that other guy. What's-his-name."

"Patrick," she replied, lips curving slightly.

"Yeah. Him."

"Still. One out of three ain't exactly an impressive track record."

He watched as she flung her hair over her shoulder, and found himself wondering what it would feel like on his skin.

"Least you ain't chained up this time," he told her.

She laughed and sat up straight.

"Good point." They sat in almost comfortable silence for a moment before she asked, "You ever think how much less fucked up the verse would be if there was just… no one? No people?"

He wondered what that said about her, that _she_ had thought about it. For a moment, he just looked at her, considering what to say.

She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Yeah," he told her honestly. "All the time."


	7. Chapter 7

(AN) I'm back! Once _again_, sorry for the delay, but I've had issues getting to a computer. I don't know what's going to happen with that for the next few weeks either, so please be patient.

"We should… check out the coring room," Shazza said. "That might be where the settlers…"

Johns gave her a surprised look. Little miss 'Drop-ship' wanted to go body hunting? Quite the change in tune.

"Probably a good idea," Fry agreed.

Johns shrugged, decided to go along with it. "Sure." He trailed the two women into the coring room, fighting down the urge to sneak off for a hit.

"Underground, right?" Fry said. She pointed at the drill. "I'd say that's our best bet."

Johns heard footsteps, and glanced back. Lynn met his eyes. Riddick stood right behind her. The merc frowned. Maybe locking her up hadn't been the best idea—seemed he'd given the con an ally. Unhappy, he turned away from the two and lit a flare. When it hit bottom there was a crunch, and they saw the shapes of bones outlined in the green light.

"Other buildings weren't secure," Riddick said, moving to kneel beside the pit. "So they ran here."

"Heaviest doors," Lynn commented, glancing back at the entrance.

Riddick nodded. "Thought they'd be safe inside. But they forgot to lock the cellar."

Fry turned away, looking sick. She had a real weak stomach, for a would-be killer.

X

Shazza hesitated, then approached the convict. _The man_, she reminded herself. _He's more than just a rap sheet_. She could see the darkness of a bruise where her heel had met his head. It wasn't as bad looking as she expected.

He didn't acknowledge her. She hesitated some more.

She'd never had trouble with words before, but this was different. This _man_ had watched her husband die. And maybe had tried to save him.

She wouldn't have believed that part at all if it weren't for Lynn. But the girl could be convincing without trying to be. So Shazza found herself here, trying to find the words to apologize. She fingered the breather around her neck, and thought of something that might make more of a statement.

"Here," she said, pulling it off and tossing it to him.

He caught it one handed. "What, it's broken?" He tossed it down.

Her breath caught in anger. She'd been angry a lot, recently. Maybe it had something to do with covering up pain, not having the proper time to grieve, but she didn't like to examine that thought.

"No, there's still a few hits left," she answered him. "Actually, you asshole, I'm trying to say that I am sorry."

She saw Johns out of the corner of her eye and turned toward him slightly, watching him take in the scene.

"Okay, let's board this place up and get the hell out of here," he ordered. Normally it might bother her, at least a bit, but… it was nice, having someone take charge.

For the moment. Her emotions were all over the freakin' board, right now. It made her feel out of control, and she hated it. She bit her lip and turned to follow Johns. She gave the breather a kick as she went.

_Bloody well botched that up, didn't I?_

X

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"

Patrick frowned at the cold, mocking tone. It was dark all on its own. He stepped around Riddick, into the room, trying to figure out what they all were focused on.

"What's up?" he asked.

No one answered. Fry pushed away from the table and turned her back on it. Patrick approached it, examining the model there for himself. An eclipse. One that, if the model was accurate, would be somewhere from three to six months in duration. He thought of the organisms underground, and the guesses he had made about them.

"Well, shit," he muttered to himself.

Apparently he'd said the magic word—suddenly, everyone was moving.

X

Carolyn closed up the skiff and set it to check hull integrity. She watched as the computer started working, then smiled and pushed back from the controls. She turned, started to stand, and found herself staring at Riddick. She froze, and the thought popped into her head that maybe chains didn't work because he could just move _through_ them, silently, like he must have with the skiff's walls…

_Crazy_, she scolded herself. _Ridiculous. Completely irrational_. Johns' talk had spooked her. She stood up the rest of the way, slowly.

"Looks like we're a few shy," he commented. "Power cells."

"They're coming," she whispered.

"It's strange, not doing a run-up on the main drive yet." He took off his breather, hung it on a hook behind his head, casual-like.

Fry was feeling anything but casual.

"Unless…" he turned back to her and continued, "Unless he told you the particulars of my escape."

"I got the quick and the queer version," she replied. Her voice wasn't as strong as she wanted it to be.

"Now you're worried about a repeat of history." He was smirking at her. The bastard was standing there smirking.

"It has entered our minds." She reached up as she said it, pushed a button. The screen went dark.

He moved then, footsteps loud, but only because he wanted them to be. With one foot he slammed down a hatch she had left open. "I asked what _you_ thought."

She knew men like him, big and strong and dangerous. She knew about their egos and their power trips and their anger issues. She knew how fast they could go from polite and _casual _to uncontrolled violence. She knew, for the most part, what they were after.

So she clenched her jaw for a second, then made her voice as steady as she could and said, "You scare me, Riddick. That's what you want to hear, isn't it? Now can I just get back to work?"

That was good. Remind him she was useful. Carolyn turned away, heading back for the cockpit.

"I been meaning to catch up with you alone," he said.

She stopped. She remembered those words. She'd done this before. She heard, _felt_, him step closer.

"Unrestrained."

_Not him_, she thought. _This isn't good, this could get real bad, but it's __**not him**_.

He moved again, but she ignored him, focused on her breathing. Square breathing, to keep from hyperventilating.

"You think…"

Four counts in. Four counts hold. Four counts out. Four counts hold.

"You think Johns is a do-right man? You think I can trust him to cut me loose?"

She lost control, didn't breathe at all for a second.

"Why?" she managed. "What did you hear?"

_Shit, bad choice of words…_

"Well, guess if it were trickeration he'd just 'X' me out, huh? He'd kill me." He paused. Dramatic effect. He was good at it. And even though she recognized what it was, it worked. "Then again, I am worth twice as much alive."

She flinched.

"_Maybe I'll sell you, little bitch. Only reason to pay for food—you're worth more alive…"_

She pushed away the memory.

"Oh, you didn't know that? Your Johns ain't a cop."

She was sweating now, she could feel it running down her face, and she was back to counting her breaths—but now she was listening, too.

"He's got that nickel-slick badge…"

He moved, so his face was almost brushing hers. She leaned away.

"…and that blue uniform, but he's just a merc." He moved to the other side. "And I'm just a payday. That's why he won't kill me, see?"

"_What are you worth, little girl? Why should you matter? Why shouldn't I just kill ya?"_

_He's playing me, _she thought. _He's playing me so fuckin' easy, and he doesn't even know why it works so good…_

"The creed is greed…"

"_Don't_ waste my time," she snapped. "We're not gonna turn on each other, no matter how hard you try."

_I'm not a little girl anymore, you fucker…_

She jerked away from him, sat down, and got back to work.

"I don't truly know what's gonna happen when the lights go out, Carolyn," he said, leaning against the back of her chair. For the first time, she heard a note of sincerity in his voice. _If_ she was reading him right. That probably wasn't a good assumption to make.

"…but I do know, once the dying starts, this little psycho-fuck family of ours is gonna rip itself apart."

He moved away, and she didn't have to think about breathing anymore.

"_Pay attention when I'm talking, girl…" _

She pushed it away. Far away.

"Ever wonder why Johns shakes like that?" he asked. The threat was still in his voice—it was _always_ there, from what she could tell—but it was toned down. Way down. It helped that he was all the way at the back of the skiff.

"Ask him. Ask why your crew pal had to scream so painfully before he died."

Then Riddick was gone.

Suddenly she didn't have to worry about blocking her uncle's voice. All she could hear was Owens.


	8. Chapter 8

Patrick stepped out of the building, raised a hand to shield his eyes from the suns, and glanced around. Lynn and Jack were filling water bottles to store on the skiff. Patrick frowned when he saw them. He realized they hadn't been in the room when they had discussed the model, and wondered if anyone had thought to tell them about the coming eclipse.

Jack smirked and muttered something, too quiet for him to hear. It made Lynn laugh—a quick, surprised burst of sound. It struck him, how similar they looked in that moment. They could have passed for sister and brother, or mother and son, if she'd spent time in cryo without her boy.

He headed toward them. Lynn noticed him first, and turned to look at him. Her smile faded, but he was pleased to see it didn't disappear all together.

"Hey," he said. "Did you… see the model?"

There went the smile. "Yeah, I saw it."

He picked up one of the empty bottles and started filling it.

"You think we're all gonna make it off on that little skiff?" Jack asked.

Kids shouldn't think to ask questions like that. Then again, kids might be the only ones with the balls to ask that kind of question straight out.

"Sure," he told him. "Won't be comfortable, but we'll do fine."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the water trickle into to the bottle.

"Where are you headed, Patrick?" Lynn asked.

Patrick decided a change of topic was a good idea—none of them wanted to think about what was coming.

"Final destination? Lupus 5," he told her.

She grimaced. "Fuckin' hellhole. You been there before?"

"Oh yeah." He laughed shortly. "Born there. Managed to get out, get scholarship money."

"What are you?" Jack put in.

"Biochemist. Swore I would never go back there, but…"

"What happened?" Lynn asked. She was looking at the sky, not him. That made it easier to answer.

"An old friend of mine's… in a bit of trouble. She's got no one else to turn to, so she called me."

"Must be some friend," the boy observed. "To make you break your promise. Plus traveling all this way."

"I used to be in love with her," Patrick replied softly. He shook his head. He hadn't meant to tell them that. "You ever been in love?"

Jack scoffed, the way young boys do, and Lynn scowled.

"Once," she said. "It more or less destroyed me." She made a face like she'd tasted something sour. "Or I destroyed myself for it."

"Was it worth it?" asked Jack.

_Oh yeah_, thought Patrick. _Only a kid…_

X

"I'm not your fucking captain," she snapped at the boys as she walked away from Johns.

That was all she could get out past the… the _noose_ of rage and guilt that had wrapped around her throat.

It was disgustingly hypocritical, the anger she felt for Johns. She didn't care, not really. He _could have done something_. He _could have_.

She could have, too. Neither had. She _hated_ him, and herself, too. They didn't deserve their survival.

The noose tightened.

She was having a hard time holding back tears, which struck her as strange. Not that she didn't cry—she did, but never, ever, _never_ in front of anyone else.

Then she stepped outside, and she saw the rings on the horizon.

The noose disappeared.

Cut away by fear, if you felt like continuing the metaphor.

So she didn't deserve survival. Who gave a damn? She'd take it anyway.

X

"Where's Riddick?" Jack called, sounding _worried_.

_It' s not like he'd __**worry**__ about __**us**_, Paris thought, and said as much.

Then something slammed down behind him. He stumbled, nearly fell, and looked up into a pair of dark goggles.

"Thought we'd lost you," he muttered, and scurried toward the front of the sand cat.

Behind him, he thought he heard Jack laugh softly.

_Boy's chosen the wrong hero,_ he thought, feeling almost… well, worried. _He's going to end up in way over his head._

X

Shazza drove—if it could be called that. She felt like she was high. She felt bloody insane.

They were in the canyon now, surrounded by monuments to death, racing towards the ship. They couldn't see the ship from here, though. It looked like they were racing toward the planet moving across the sky, threatening to turn them into monuments themselves.

_Surreal… _she thought. Then: _God, I'm giddy…_

She'd been in bad situations before, and she'd never felt like this. She knew the reason for the change. Zeke, of course.

It was always him. Always.

And now he was gone, and she was free. He was gone, so she didn't _care_ anymore. She liked it.

She hit a ribcage, and kept going, busting straight through in a rain of bone. She hoped, in a vague sort of way, that none of her passengers had been hurt.

She remembered sitting behind him on their old bike, clutching him as he leaned forward and laid on the speed. For a moment, she could smell him again, his skin and his sweat. She took a deep breath, but all she got was dry, dead air and dust.

He was gone.

Despite that, she knew she didn't want to die.

Somehow, the knowledge that he wouldn't be there to mourn her set her free.

What would happen would happen. She'd live for him, if she could. If not, she'd die for him. It really was always him, wasn't it? Even after he was gone.

Bastard.

X

He'd never seen anything like the creatures streaming across the sky. He didn't have words to describe them, other than the first impression that had slipped through his lips. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

They _mesmerized_ him. That'd never happened to him before.

"People! Just a suggestion…" Paris, shouting. Didn't sound like he was stuttering now. "Perhaps you should _flee_!"

The others followed his advice. He saw Shazza dart past him, then Lynn. Then the spell was broken, and he followed her.

They ran.

Riddick knew better than to look back, but he could hear them, bearing down. Sounded like a fucking swarm. Most of the others'd made it back to the ship.

They were getting louder, louder. Closer.

He threw himself to the ground, saw Lynn and Shazza do the same ahead of him.

The swarm passed over them, close enough they could have reached up a hand and touched the creatures. Or had their hands chewed off—seemed more likely.

Then they were gone. He took a deep breath, felt the dust tickle his nose. There was rustling, ahead and to the left of him. He glanced over, found Lynn crawling toward Shazza.

"Stay down! Just stay _down_!" That was Jack, yelling back at them from the ship. He raised his head, just a bit, to look at her. Paris had her around the shoulders, and she was fighting him. Lucky she was small.

_Take your own damn advice, girl… _

He turned in time to see Shazza lunge to her feet. Lynn grabbed her ankle, and she stumbled, but didn't go down. Instead, she shrieked and kicked out, catching the other woman on the side of the face.

Lynn lost her grip, and Shazza was off.

Then the hellish things were back, and Shazza was shrieking again, louder.

It only lasted a minute or so. Then there was silence.

Riddick stood, brushing off his hands.

Lynn was in the fetal position, hands clenched over the new bruise on her face.

He reached down and gripped her wrists lightly, pulling her into a sitting position. She stared up at him, and he noticed there were still no tears on her face. He shifted her hands to her upper arms, intending to pull her to her feet, but she shook him off.

"I can stand on my own," she said, and did.

He watched her as they walked toward the ship. He knew she was shaken, emotionally. She'd be wanting to beat herself up over this latest failure. But the danger wasn't done, so she saved that for later. She stayed calm. Steady. That pleased him, probably more than it should have.

But he'd save that thought for later.

(AN) This is turning into a much longer story than I anticipated. Please, bear with me, I'll try to make it worth your while.


	9. Chapter 9

Their lights sliced through the gloom, turning the already unnerving crash site into a scene from one of the ghost storied he'd loved as a kid. Remembering the inevitably bloody endings, Patrick did his best to banish those images from his head.

"Are these the only lights we have?" Paris demanded. "Is this everything?"

Fry answered him. "No—there's a cutting torch on the floor here somewhere. I just can't find it."

"Three more flashlights, too," Lynn added. "I left 'em with the torch."

Patrick swung his light, scanning the floor.

"Quiet, please, everyone," Imam snapped behind him. Patrick spun, startled. For a second, he hadn't recognized the voice. He hadn't known the man could speak in such a harsh tone.

Imam leaned against the wall, and the boys followed suit. Patrick wondered if they did so because they could hear something, or just because the priest had done it.

Then he heard them, too.

"Why do they do that?" Jack whispered. "Make that sound?"

Patrick thought he caught a note of real curiosity under the terror and… awe?... in the boy's voice.

"Echolocation," he replied.

"Echo-what?"

Jack looked a bit calmer—if only for a second, fear had taken a backseat to his inquisitiveness.

_Intellectualization_, Pat thought. _Classic coping method._

"Echolocation," he repeated. "The… animals make the noise, then listen for the echo. Based on the sound of the echo and how long it takes to get back to them, they can tell what things are and where they are."

"So they can see in the dark, too." The boy turned, looked past Patrick, into the shadows. "I think I like your way better."

X

_Stupid, kid._ Riddick thought, not taking his eyes off the creature. _What the hell you wanna go wandering off in the dark for?_

"Just don't run," he commanded in a monotone. He wondered absently if the boy even understood English.

It was moving its head from side to side, clicking softly. _Watching_ them.

_Oh, yeah. Slam or not, my way's better_.

"Riddick?" Fry called.

"Don't. Stop. Burning."

A second one moved behind, then above them. The boy was getting twitchy now, breathing too hard.

A claw shot out—the kid's nerve broke and he bolted. Second later, he was dead.

Then he was running too—back to the light he usually hated…

Literally, because someone was shining their light right in his _fucking_ eyes. Blind, he leaped again, and heard the creature give a cry oddly similar to his own.

Johns was shooting, everyone was yelling. By the time he could see again, it was on the ground.

"It hurts them," he heard. "Light actually _hurts_ them." Riddick got to his feet.

There was a crash. One of the things had knocked something over.

"Is that Hassan?"

"We'll burn a candle for him later. C'mon, let's get out of here."

The others, except Lynn, started moving. Seemed like she hadn't heard. She was standing shock-still, staring past him.

"Hassan," she whispered. "I _forgot_ Hassan."

Seemed to him they had all forgotten Hassan—his death hadn't affected the group much at all. He didn't think that was what she was talking about, but he was pretty sure she wasn't talking to him, so he didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and nudged her in the direction the rest had gone.

Maybe it was his imagination, but it felt like for just a second she leaned into his touch.

X

"So, we got one cutting torch, we got five hand lights. There's gotta be something we can rip out of the crash ship."

Johns only half listened—the pilot was just thinking out loud. Probably trying to calm herself down.

"Spirits," Paris added. "Anything over 45 proof burns rather well."

Burning that shit was a crime in Johns' book, and probably in a few others as well. No one argued, though.

"How many bottles you got?"

The man shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Maybe ten."

"Okay. Johns, you got some flares. So, maybe we've got enough light."

The merc refocused on the conversation, scowling. "Enough for fucking what?"

"We stick to the plan. We get the four cells back to the skiff, we're off this rock."

_Says it like it's the simplest thing in the verse_, he thought, disbelieving. _Crazy bitch. Maybe she does want us dead, after all. _

"Look, I hate to ruin a beautiful theory with an ugly fact," Paris snapped, "but that sand cat is solar. It won't run at night."

The man was good at sounding superior as hell. Most times it irritated Johns, but at the moment, he thought Carolyn could stand to be put in her place. But she didn't flinch.

"So we carry the cells. We drag them, whatever it takes."

He started to cuss at her, but Jack got there first. "You mean tonight? With all those things still out there?"

Lynn slid a hand down and rubbed the back of the boy's neck, soothing him.

Johns saw the opening and took it, trying to sound like the voice of reason. "All right, how long can this last? A few hours, a day, tops?"

"If the model was accurate?" Patrick replied. "Three to six months."

His chest tightened. _So not going out there…_

"And how do we know it was? Look, we gotta think about everybody now, especially the kid. How scared's this boy gonna be out there in the dark?"

"Don't use him like that," Fry snapped, and for the second time he saw disgust on her face. He didn't like seeing it there, but at least he was alive to see it.

"Like what?"

"As a smoke screen. You deal with your own fear."

His patience broke and he growled, "Why don't you shut your fucking mouth for two seconds and let me come up with a plan that doesn't involve mass suicide?"

To his surprise, she did as he asked. The things chose that moment to pick up their wailing, and the group tensed.

"I'm waiting."

He stared at her. He realized he was starting to hate her.

"How much do you weigh, Johns?"

_Huh?_

"What's it matter, Carolyn?" He thought of his stash, wondered in she was figuring doses in her head.

"How _much_?"

"Around seventy-nine kilos, to be ex--"

"Cause you're seventy-nine kilos of gutless white meat, and that's why you can't think--"

"Is that _fuckin'_ right?" he snarled, jerking to his feet. His hand leapt on its own to his gun, but then there was something between him and her.

Riddick.

_Fucking bastard. Never shoulda taken those chains off…_

"Where are you going?"

"This solves nothing," Imam whispered. He was ignored.

Riddick, cool as ever, removed his goggles and smirked at Johns.

He heard it before he felt it—that damn shiv, tapping his pants, just below the crotch. The others would think he was threatening to castrate him, but Johns knew Riddick wouldn't bother with that. Not when the femoral artery was pumping right under the tip of his blade.

He took a deep breath, struggling to capture some of the ice in the con's eyes for himself.

"Okay."

He sat.

"Guys," Lynn spoke up for the first time. Her voice sounded flat, dead. "Plan for the worst, right? There is no way we can survive three to six months in this ship."

Her blunt words forced their minds back to the current situation. No one seemed to know quite what to say.

Finally, Fry spoke. "We need to go. Now."

"And you are sure you can get us there?" Imam asked. "Even in the dark."

Eyes hooked on her, and he wondered if she liked being the one they turned to.

She seemed to take her cue from Lynn—honesty, brutal honesty. "No, I can't."

No one moved—they had to believe there was more. They were dead if there wasn't.

"But he can."

Johns felt shock rip through him, saw it hit the con and ripple through the whole group. Then Lynn snorted, alive again.

"So how 'bout it?" she asked. "You up for a jog?"

X

"Hope you like to run," he said.

She turned her head toward him, and her gaze locked with his. Probably all she could see of him was the shine of his eyes.

She bit her lip for a moment, then smirked at some internal joke.

"Babe," she drawled, "I _live_ to run."


	10. Chapter 10

"Looks clear."

Carolyn glanced at Johns. He'd apparently decided that if they were going to work together, they'd work together—he took the convict at his word and started forward.

A screech, that horrible rush of wings. She threw herself to the ground, heard the others do the same. She trembled, dust tickling her nose. Maybe Johns was right—maybe she had lost it. Shit, she'd given their lives to a murderer.

Fry took a deep, dusty breath, and forced down the panic.

"You said clear!" Johns snarled.

"I said _looks_ clear."

"Well, what's it look like now?" The merc was gritting his teeth, you could hear it in his voice.

Just like you could hear the shrug in Riddick's. "Looks clear."

_If this was a vid_, she realized, _I'd be laughing my ass off._

She sneezed.

_Fuck, I wish this was a vid._

"Bless you," Jack muttered behind her.

X

"_Check your cuts,"_ he'd said. Lucky her, she had no cuts. But she had something she thought was probably worse.

Jack nabbed one of the flashlights and headed away from the group. The others were making a lot of noise, and every damn one made her jump out of her skin. She shook her head and forced herself to focus on what she had to do.

When she was far enough away that she didn't think anyone would stumble over her, she stopped, propped the light against the wall, and pulled down her pants. She shivered, exposed, desperately wanting to yank them back up.

So she worked quickly, changing her pad. Her left sleeve already had a hole in it—she widened it, tore off a scrap, and used it to clean herself as best she could. Shit, she wished she had a tampon.

_This will have to do_, she thought, echoing the words she'd heard so many times.

She had blood on her fingers now. She had to get rid of it. The bit of cloth was soaked, no way she could use it. She stood for a moment, not knowing what to do.

In the end, she brought her hands to her lips and licked it away.

Thinking of Riddick's words, she held back hysterical giggles. It _was_ metallic, like sucking on a coin. Nothing to cut it with, thought—all their liquid courage was needed for burning.

She pulled up her pants and wiped saliva from her fingers. She was ready.

Then she remembered what she was preparing for.

_Like hell I am._

X

_Damn, they're everywhere_.

He started out, leading the others at a steady pace, glad they couldn't see—they'd be panicking, sure as hell, out here with all these fuckers parting before them like the fucking Red Sea.

_I been in some damn tight spots,_ he thought as he ran, _but this shit is definitely the strangest._

X

"Wait."

_For what?_ Pat wondered, turning to look at the boy—then, to his astonishment, the kid ducked out of his coil of light and stepped back.

"What you think you're doing?" he called.

"Jack!" Fry yelled.

The constant screeching grew louder.

_Oh, fuck_, he thought. _They're coming_.

There was a split-second of hesitation, and then his decision was made. He dropped his own lights and threw himself after Jack.

X

The verse was all gunshots and screams and shrieks. Panicked, she flinched away from the noise.

Then something heavy was pressing her into the dirt. She let out a shriek of her own and clawed at it, desperate to get away.

"Jack!" the thing snarled. "Jack!"

_Not a thing_, she finally realized. _Not a thing. A person. Just a person_. She went limp.

"It's alright," he was murmuring. "It's alright. Everything's gonna be—"

There was a crash. The lights went out.

She whimpered. Her body shook with in time with her too-harsh breathing.

"Shhhhh," he whispered. "Shhhhh."

Then he jerked against her.

"Pa—" her voice died. She swallowed and tried again. "Patrick?"

"Susan…" he whispered.

Then he cried out. And the weight was gone.

X

There was a brief flash of fire to mark the end of a man's life. One last strike at the bastards before they took him down. Riddick understood the sentiment. He understood it very, very well.

"Well, it's good to see you're okay," Johns drawled.

Riddick didn't rise to the bait. The merc could get as pissy as he wanted—the group needed Riddick, and both of them knew it.

"Do I even wanna know?" Fry asked, clutching at her flare like it was the most precious thing in the verse. Which, come to think of it, it was.

Riddick watched the things tearing into the bodies of Paris and Patrick, and he considered the question. Did she want to know? Should he tell her about the way one was jerking at the 'entrepreneur's limp arm, or that Pat was still twitching when they set into him?

He glanced to his right. The girl's breathing was still a little heavy, but she was handling it. Getting herself back under control, and doing a good job of it.

Speaking up now would probably screw that up for her.

He kept his mouth shut.

X

_What has he done?_ Imam wondered. _Oh, Allah, were we fools to trust him?_

"Why have we circled?" he asked aloud. "Are we lost?"

"Listen," the convict murmured from his position kneeling by the incriminating tracks.

"Do you even know where we are?" Imam snapped.

"Listen!" the other man snarled, springing to his feet.

The entire group fell deathly silent. The same terrifying noises they had heard all night filled the air. Imam frowned. There was something wrong about them—they seemed distorted, somehow.

He was about to ask what it was when Riddick said, "Canyon ahead. I circled once to buy some time to think."

"I think we should go now," Imam replied immediately.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Riddick's voice was disturbingly calm. "That's death row up there. Especially with the girl bleeding."

"What?"

Johns seconded his thoughts. "What you talkin' about—neither of them're cut."

Despite his firm statement, he sent Fry and Lynn questioning looks. Both shook their heads.

"Not them," Riddick answered. "Her."

Imam followed his gaze to… _Jack?_

The boy—girl?—spun on Lynn. "You fuckin' _bitch_! You said you wouldn't tell!"

The woman easily ducked the fists Jack sent her way, but made no move to restrain the girl. Fry grabbed the girl's shoulders and held her back.

"You gotta be kidding me," Johns muttered.

"She didn't rat ya out, kid," Riddick said softly. "Figured it out on my own."

The fight seemed to drain out of the child's thin frame.

"Why didn't you say anything, Jack?" Carolyn asked, voice tight.

"I—I just thought it'd be better if people took me for a guy. Thought they might leave me alone stead of always _messin'_ with me…"

She jerked out of the Captain's grip and sank to the ground, huddling into herself. Carolyn softened and knelt beside her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Are you really bleeding?"

"You could've left me at the ship, Fry. That's why I didn't say anything sooner."

Imam stared at her, jaw clenched in disgust. What kind of place had this poor child come from? What kind of people would teach a little girl so much about fear?

"They've been nose open for her ever since we left," Riddick told him, voice low. "In case you haven't noticed, they go off blood."

Imam glanced back again. Jack was still on the ground. Carolyn had her arm around her, comforting and protective.

Lynn was watching the two of them, something raw and aching on her face and in her eyes.

X

The girl in her arms was shaking like a leaf. Carolyn stroked her arm, murmured soothingly, and came to a decision. She stood.

"Look, this is not gonna work." She swallowed. "We're gonna have to go back."

Johns stopped and turned. The look he shot her froze her blood.

"What'd you say?" He only paused for a moment before continuing, "You're the one who got us out here in the first place, turned us into sled dogs."

He was walking towards her. She resisted the urge to back away from him.

"I was wrong, I admit it. Okay, can we please just get back to the ship?"

"I don't know, Carolyn. Nice breeze, open space, I'm starting to enjoy my fucking self."

"What are you high again?" she snapped. "Just listen to yourself, Johns."

"No, no, you're right Carolyn." His voice rose steadily, until his was shouting in her face. "What's to be afraid of? My life's a steaming pile of meaningless shit anyhow, so I say mush on. The canyon's only a couple hundred meters, after that it's skiff city. So why don't you butch up, stuff a cork in this fucking kid, and let's go."

"She is the Captain," Imam interjected. "We should listen to her."

"Listen to her?" The smile on John's face sent a curl of dread sliding through her belly. "When she was so willing to sacrifice us all?"

"What's he talkin' about?" Jack demanded behind her.

Carolyn was careful to keep her voice calm. "This does not help us."

The merc ignored her. "During the crash she tried to blow the passenger cabin—tried to kill us in our sleep."

"Shut your mouth," she snarled.

"We are fucking disposable. We're just walking ghosts to you."

Something in her snapped. "Shut your fucking blowhole!"

Before she realized what was happening she had lunged at him, and he had put her on the ground.

"Fine. Fine!" Imam said, moving between them. "You've made your point."

Carolyn heard the disappointment in his voice and pressed her face into her arm.

"Oh, Carolyn," Johns laughed. "How much do you weigh now?"

She bit her tongue. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of him.

"Verdict's in. The light moves forward."


	11. Chapter 11

"Ain't all of us gonna make it."

"Just realize that?"

Johns chuckled softly. "Seven of us left." He kept his tone casual—no need to show the convict just how edgy he was. "If we can make it through the canyon and lose just one that'd be quite a feat, huh?"

Riddick's response was predictable. "Not if I'm the one."

"Well, what if you're one of six?"

A sudden noise made both men jerk. Johns, staring into darkness, was reminded why exactly Riddick couldn't be that one.

"I'm listening," Riddick growled.

X

"What're they doing up there?" Jack demanded.

"They're talking about the canyon, I suppose. How to get us through."

Jack shook her head. Was she overly cynical, or was Imam still naïve, even after living so much longer than her?

"Watch them," Lynn commanded. "Just in case there's a bit more to their little chat."

Fry nodded. "They're looking awful damn chummy, aren't they?"

X

"Battlefield doctors decide who lives and dies, it's called triage."

The convict gave a short laugh. "Kept calling it murder when I did it."

X

Carolyn caught a flash of silver as Riddick glanced back at them—a warning? Sizing them up?

She glanced at Lynn, saw from the clenched jaw and wary eyes that the other woman had noticed it, too.

"Imam," she said, "Slow down. Just a little more space between us and them."

X

"Alright, enough of this shit. You do the girl, and I'll keep the others off your back."

Riddick slowed, then stopped walking.

Do the girl?

The flash of rage he felt surprised him. Do the girl who had fooled them all? Put a shiv in the kid who looked at _him_, of all people, with some kind of misguided hero worship?

He really didn't like the idea.

"It's not too big a job for you, is it?" the merc drawled.

_Oh, I'll do someone_, Riddick thought. It was the perfect excuse to get Johns out of the way. Who could blame him for ghosting the bastard after this?

He turned to face the other man. "I'm just wondering if we don't need a bigger piece of bait."

"Like who?"

He knew. The fucker knew exactly what he was talking about. They stood for a moment in tense silence.

Then Riddick moved.

X

Carolyn turned, nearly crashed into a broad chest. She let out a startled scream.

"Back to the ship, huh?" Riddick asked. "Just huddle together 'til the lights burn out."

"Get away from us," she snarled, brandishing the flame she held.

_Fucking hell_, she thought, _I was right about him, he's a killer, he's scum, he's no better than…_

"'Til you can't see what's eating you? That the big plan?"

"Where's Johns?" Imam demanded.

Those _eyes_ flicked to the other man. "Which half?"

"We're gonna lose everybody out here," Jack whispered. She took in a harsh breath. "We shoulda stayed at the ship."

"He died fast," Riddick told her in a tone that was almost… comforting? "If we have any choice about it, that's the way we should all go out."

The convict didn't soften any, but some of the danger faded. He came up behind the girl, and studied her for a moment.

"Don't you cry for Johns," he murmured. "Don't you dare."

Then he started walking.

"C'mon," Lynn said, moving to follow.

Fry hesitated, then did the same.

_The hell just happened?_ she wondered as she walked.

X

"Think someone can spend half their life in a slam with a horse bit in their mouth, and not believe?"

Imam opened his mouth to speak, but the other man wasn't finished.

"Think he could start out in some liquor store trash bin with an umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and not believe? You got it all wrong, holy man. I absolutely believe in God. And I absolutely hate the fucker."

"He is with us, nonetheless."

The glance Riddick shot him was cold.

"Two of your boys are already dead. How much faith do you have left, Father?"

Then he was gone.

Imam knew that it was not the reaction Riddick had been aiming for, but in that moment, with those words ringing in his ears, he ached for that angry man—and even more for the lost boy he had once been.

So he knelt, and prayed for him.

X

"Just keep the girl between you."

"What about the cells?" Imam asked.

"I'll take those."

Fry flinched, remembering a dead man's warning.

X

Something grabbed his leg, tore at it. Suleiman screamed.

Imam clutched at him. He felt heat, smelled burning.

Through the pain he heard someone calling; "Riddick! Wait!"

X

The girl's scream ground him to a halt, spun him around.

One of the things was on her, but she'd managed to dive beneath a shard of bone. Fry was yelling at it, waving a bottle-torch, and Lynn was jabbing at it with a knife in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

_Keep going, Riddick_, he told himself. _Kid's not that cute._ He turned away.

He heard her sob.

_Aww, hell_, he thought.

He ripped off his goggles and spun, just in time to see Lynn thrown against the canyon wall. The light she held smashed and went out.

The creature lunged, and Riddick was there to meet it. He grabbled as it snapped at him. It reared back. He had enough time to grab his shiv and drive it into the thing's belly.

Again. Again. Again.

It fell. He grabbed the head and twisted, satisfied with the loud crack. That'd do for any animal he knew.

"Did _not_ know who he was fucking with."

Then he remembered he had an audience.

Jack, nestled in Fry's arms, had something like awe on her face. Next to them, Lynn was smirking.

"You're better at this shit than I am," she said. "Who'da thunk?"

He frowned, then worked out what she meant. He shook his head and went back to the cells.

_I'm no fucking hero._

X

The others were pulling Suleiman to his feet. Jack held out a hand, felt wet drops.

"Fucking hell," she whispered.

X

Imam carried him into the slight shelter offered by the side of the canyon. The women were trying to keep the bottles lit—the captain was yelling at the other man.

Suleiman didn't understand any of it, and with the pain from his leg beating at him, he didn't even try.

Something cold snaked around his neck. He didn't get a chance to call for help before he was dragged away.

X

"We can't make it," Riddick muttered. He looked back at the four waiting on his word, and he made a decision.

X

"He's not coming back, is he?"

Carolyn looked into the girl's tired green eyes, and didn't have the heart to lie.


	12. Chapter 12

"I'll go," Lynn offered. She was crouched in a corner, tapping the knife against her boot. Her skin was almost translucent in the blue light. Creepy.

Jack wondered if she looked like a ghost, too.

Something scrapped against the rock.

"Can you use that thing?" Fry asked, gesturing at the blade.

The other woman nodded.

"Then you stay here," the Captain commanded. "If those things get in…"

Lynn took a deep breath, then nodded again.

"Good luck," she offered.

Fry's lips curved with the tiniest hint of a smile.

"I'll bring back light," she promised.

X

Riddick plugged in the cells and powered up. Then he looked out into the rain, and thought about the ones he was leaving.

The Holy Man—smart, level headed. More interesting than he'd thought.

Carolyn Fry. Strong and scared, eaten alive by guilt, even if the creatures hadn't touched her yet.

Little Jack—he didn't even know her real name, but for some reason he hated to hear her cry.

Lynn, the failed savior. He'd never know, now, about her bitterness or her shivs or the taste of her skin.

He should have ghosted them all when he first got out of those damn chains. At least then he wouldn't be wishing things had turned out different.

He flipped the switch, and the ramp started to close.

X

"I don't wanna die," Jack whispered.

The darkness was complete, now that Carolyn had taken the bottle of worms. Imam reached towards the girl's voice, wanting to reassure her. He hit the wall, scraping his knuckles.

"You won't," Lynn said calmly. "Not now."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do."

There came the sound of cloth brushing against rock. Imam guessed that Lynn was moving towards Jack.

"You aren't gonna die now, Jack. This isn't even the worst thing in your life."

"What are you, psychic?" the younger girl snapped.

After a moment of silence, Lynn replied, "Something like that."

Another pause.

"Yeah?" Jack said softly. "What is the worst thing, then?"

More rustling, and then Lynn was whispering. "This is it…"

Her voice dropped lower, and close as they were in the little cave, Imam couldn't make out what was said.

X

Fry ran, not letting herself flinch at the sounds all around her. _Keep moving_, she chanted in her head. _Just keep moving…_

She saw the skiff up ahead, lights on, powered up.

_Jack was right_, she thought, surprised to feel a surge of disappointment. _That fucker's leaving._

X

She threw herself at him, took him down. It was the last thing he'd expected from her.

A minute later he'd turned it around on her, pinned her under him with a shiv to her throat.

She didn't cry, didn't beg, just snarled, "Get that thing off my neck."

"_Shut up_," he yelled.

She did as he said, instinctively trying to twist away from the blade.

"You'd die for them?"

"I'd try for them."

Not good enough.

"You didn't answer me."

She gasped. "Yes, I would, Riddick. I would. I would die for them."

He yanked off his goggles, stared down at her. She meant it. She would sacrifice her own life for the three he had left behind, and never flinch. It hit him, sudden and hard—in one way at least, this little slip of a woman was stronger than him.

"How interesting," he muttered.

X

The first thing Fry saw after Riddick moved the boulder was the flash of a blade. She jerked back, hit Riddick's shoulder.

"Sorry," Lynn said, lowering her arm.

Jack was staring up at them—no, at _Riddick_, a dazzling grin on her face.

"Never had a _doubt_!" she declared.

The lie, delivered with such utter sincerity, made Carolyn smile.

X

He held out an arm to stop them. Lynn ran into it. Then she backed up against the rock, gesturing for the others to do the same.

There were four of them facing off in the clearing just ahead. Riddick grabbed Lynn's hand and gripped it tight, felt her answering squeeze.

"Carolyn," she whispered, and he knew they were forming a chain of linked hands, waiting on his signal.

That made him feel… something. He wasn't sure what to call it.

The opening came. He dragged them through.

X

"Don't stop. Don't stop."

Jack gasped for air. Her whole side was one huge cramp. Rock bit at her left palm as she scrambled up the hill on her hands and knees. Her other hand clutched at the slick neck of the bottle.

She thought of what would happen if she dropped it, if she _broke_ it, and whimpered.

Strong hands grabbed her arm and yanked her up. She'd have bruises from his fingers, but she really didn't give a shit. Bruises were okay. Meant she was alive. Bruises were wonderful.

"C'mon," he barked at her. "Move. _Move_."

Then she was past him. Imam's hand was on her back, pushing her on.

"You know the way," she heard.

X

The others would be back at the skiff already. They wouldn't leave him, not after the speech Fry'd given him.

He was almost there.

One of the fuckers dropped straight out of the sky, landed right in front of him. Blocked the way.

Riddick took a deep breath and stepped up to meet it, moving into its blind spot. He pushed everything out of his mind and focused on the animal he faced. It moved, and he swayed with it. He could feel the adrenaline burning his veins.

It turned away. Riddick almost smiled.

Then another landed behind him.

_Fuck_, he thought.

X

They hesitated, hovering on the skiff's ramp.

Then they heard him yell.

Jack jerked towards the sound, but was brought up short by arms around her shoulders. Fry disappeared into the darkness as Jack fought them.

"Dammit, hold _still_," Lynn hissed at her.

"He came back for us," Jack snarled in return. "You wanna just leave him now?"

"What could _you_ do for him anyway?" the older woman demanded. "Stay here, Jack." She softened. "Stay. I'll bring them back."

Jack cursed, then swallowed. "You'd better go."

Lynn cautiously released her. When it was clear the girl would stay put, she raced into the black.

X

"Okay, hold on to me," she murmured in his ear. "Hold on to me."

It took him a moment to process the words. He didn't think he'd ever heard them before. He felt Carolyn slip an arm around his chest. His own moved to her shoulders before he'd decided to put it there.

"We're gonna get out of here," she said. He could barely hear her over his own panting. "I got you, c'mon."

But she didn't have him. He slipped and hit the ground hard.

"_C'mon_, Riddick!" she yelled. "Get up! Get up!"

She was pulling at his shoulder, trying to take his weight. Then another pair of hands was yanking at his other side.

"We need to go," Lynn said. "We need to go now."

Between the two of them, they dragged him to his feet.

"I said I'd die for them, not you," Carolyn told him.

Lynn hesitated. "You what?"

"Later," snapped the Captain.

He knew he was heavy, but they held onto him, and to each other, and the little group started stumbling in the right direction.

Then one of them gasped.

He was frozen. Lynn's face was pressed against his collar bone, and Carolyn's eyes were inches away from his own.

Then she was torn away. At the last second he grasped at her, but her hand slid through his. The triangle collapsed, and its two remaining points tumbled to the ground.

Lynn let out a high, inhuman shriek. A rage sound. A grief sound.

He just shook his head, still reaching into the night.

"Not for me," he said. "_Not. For. Me._"

X

She only returned with one of them, not both like she'd promised. But Jack saw the looks on the survivors' faces, and knew better than to comment on it.

The lights were on. She looked down at her hands, scratched, bleeding, and dirty, and she thought they were beautiful, just because she could see them.

"So much prayer to make up for," Imam murmured beside her. "I scarcely know where to begin."

Jack glanced at him, feeling her lips twitch in something that was almost a smile. "I know where I'd start."

The next second her heart stopped. Riddick was switching off the power.

"Riddick, what are you doing?" she demanded.

He didn't answer.

The skiff went dark. It only took a minute for the clanging to start.

"Can we just get the hell out of here now?" she hissed, hunching her shoulders. She caught the glint of his eye as he glanced back at her.

"We can't leave…" he murmured.

One of them slammed into the windshield. Jack jumped.

He didn't. Of course not.

"…without saying goodnight."

_Then_ he powered up.

Jack grinned in spite of herself as she watched the fuckers burn.

_Damn, I like how he thinks._

X

Lynn put a precise row of stitches in his leg while Jack peered over her shoulder, fascinated. He was flooded, for just an instant, with tenderness for the two of them—his girls.

Then he shook his head. Put it down to blood loss.

Or maybe this was the humanity Fry had been trying to sell.

Lynn tied off the thread on the last one and snipped it. Then she gave an exhausted sigh and moved towards the copilot's seat.

Jack got there first. The woman groaned, but the girl was too busy studying the controls to notice.

"Less you can pilot, kid, that ain't your spot," he told her.

"What?" she asked, glancing up.

"Don't worry about it," Lynn said. "She can sit there for awhile." She headed for the back.

There was a tired silence. As usual, Jack was the one to break it. "Lotta questions, whoever we run into. Could even be a merc ship." He glanced at her, and she continued. "So what the hell do we tell them about you?"

Every ear on that skiff was waiting for his response. He knew it, so he took a moment to consider his words.

"Tell 'em Riddick's dead," he said finally. "He died somewhere on that planet."

She searched his face, and he rewarded her with a smile. She smiled back.

_Damn impressive_, he thought, _that she can smile so easy after all the shit she's just been through…_

She looked away, out at the stars, and fell silent, apparently lost in her own thoughts.

He closed his eyes and leaned back. Skiff was on autopilot, headed in the right direction, and no one here was gonna stab him in his sleep.

He could relax for a bit.

X

"_Think I fixed things?" she whispered in his ear. "Think they're any fucking better at all?"_

_He tried to open his eyes, closed them quick. Way too bright. But he didn't need to see. He knew that voice._

"_Did best you could," he replied with a shrug._

"_**Not**__ what I asked."_

"_What you want me to say, girl? 'Things'? What things? Shit happens, darling. Sometimes you can't change it."_

_She laughed. Cynical, as always. "Guess that's true."_

_He felt the tips of her fingers tracing his face, like she was the one who couldn't see._

"_You are damn beautiful," she whispered. "For a nightmare."_

_He cocked his head. "So how do I compare to the sweet dreams?"_

"_I wouldn't know," she replied, leaning forward until he could feel his own breath reflected off her skin. She seemed to be holding hers._

_His lips started to form her name. She kissed it away._

X

He woke suddenly, sharp and disoriented. He couldn't remember where he was, and that put him on edge fast. His eyes opened, found nothing but empty space.

Then he heard the soft click of beads behind him. Prayer beads. That registered.

He glanced to his right. Jack was watching him, concerned and just a bit wary.

He turned back to the controls, checked the read-outs. Everything looked fine. Real good, in fact, considering their craft had been abandoned, open to the elements, for twenty-two years.

But something was wrong.

He spun around. Holy man jerked his head up at the sudden movement, constant prayer interrupted.

Riddick didn't offer an explanation. He was trying to relax—it wasn't working.

_Everything's fine, _he told himself. _Whole 'family's' accounted for. Where's the problem?_

His head felt strange. He shook it, then looked around again.

"Where the fuck is Lynn?"

Jack pressed herself back into her seat. Her eyes were dark, full of jagged edges.

Imam just frowned. "Who?"

X

"_That's it?" asked the woman who had been called Lynn. "That's all I can do?"_

"_For now," answered her companion._

"_Fuckin' hell."_

"_Patience."_

_She snorted. "Never been big on virtues."_

(AN) Return of the trippyness!! Stick with me guys, I swear it WILL make sense eventually. All of it.


	13. Chapter 13

Imam slept like the dead. Jack was not so lucky.

She knew she was gonna have nightmares—she'd already been warned about that. So she stayed awake as long as she could.

They had been on the skiff for twelve hours. Riddick had slept for five. Imam had only been _awake_ for three. She had yet to close her eyes for longer than a minute, but she knew she couldn't keep it up much longer.

X

The first time the kid screamed herself awake, he just glanced at her, then looked away. Nightmares were normal. Not his problem. She gasped and flailed for a second, then settled down.

The second time, she woke up Imam. Holy man hauled himself up to the front of the skiff, held her hand, asked if she wanted to talk. He was doing it all wrong—Riddick could've told him that. Street kids don't 'want to talk'. Not about their fears. They're trained from birth to keep that kind of thing hidden safe.

Sure enough, she shook off his hovering.

The third time, she managed to jerk herself awake before she got around to the screaming. Riddick thought it was a good sign—maybe she'd settle down soon.

But twenty minutes later she was tossing around, letting out pitiful little whimpers. Riddick knew she would hate him hearing her like that. He tried not to listen.

She woke with a gasp, and he ignored her.

Then she started to cry.

He told himself that wasn't his problem either. But her breath hitched, and suddenly she was full out sobbing into her arms.

He leaned over and grabbed her shoulder.

She gasped, her head jerked up, and she stared at him.

"Calm down," he said.

The words made her flinch. Too gruff?

_Fuck it_, he thought. He was a gruff guy—hell, he was things that were a lot worse. He was doing her a favor here, so she would have to deal with it.

"C'mere," he commanded, dragging her out of her seat and towards him. She bit her lip, but let him guide her into his lap. He arranged her so she wasn't putting too much weight on his bad leg, and slipped an arm around her.

"Alright, kid," he said. "On the one hand, you got these nightmares. Scary as hell, but the fuckers ain't real. Then there's me. I am very real. Who you think's gonna win here?"

She mumbled something into his shoulder.

"What's that?" he asked.

"You."

"That's right. So now you need to shut the fuck up and go to sleep, okay?"

Her head came up, and she stared at him. He rose an eyebrow.

The kid actually giggled. But she relaxed against him.

"Whatever you say, Riddick," she whispered.

X

Days passed, stretched into a week. Then two. Riddick's leg healed, faster than Imam thought was natural. Their rations wouldn't last for much longer, though they had plenty of water.

At first neither of the men had been interested in talking much, but Jack seemed to know how to wheedle a conversation out of anyone.

They all went a little stir crazy, all got on each other's nerves. There were times when Imam guessed Riddick was fantasizing about 'ghosting' them, times when Jack eyed the silent comms with desperation, times when his own prayers consisted of a single, heartfelt plea—_make them go away_.

Despite that, somewhere around the end of the first week Imam admitted to himself that he actually enjoyed their company. Most of the time. The foul-mouthed girl had a sharp mind, insatiable curiosity, and enthusiasm that seemed to light up the small vessel. The brooding killer had a quick wit (even if his humor was mostly dark), a knack for finding ways to pass the time, and silent, steady strength his passengers came to depend on.

Now, Imam wondered what _he_ had to offer the little group.

Jack plopped down beside him, breaking him out of his musings.

"What you think, Imam?" she asked with a cocky grin. "Am I right, or is he wrong?"

Riddick snorted, but didn't say anything. The other man sat back in his chair, looking at Imam expectantly. Waiting, the priest realized, for him to pass judgment.

He sighed, but didn't bother to hide an indulgent smile. "What are you two bickering about now?"

X

She watched Riddick nervously. He flipped a switch, silencing the mechanical voice and putting out the blinking alarm lights.

"First you're a boy, then you're a girl, now you're a psychic." His voice was annoyed, though whether it was at her or just at the fucked up irony of the situation, she didn't know. "Be careful what you wish for, Jack."

_**I'm**__ not the one who's psychic here_, she thought. Her mouth opened, and the words almost came out. Then she blinked, and they didn't make sense anymore.

Neither of the guys were psychic either. And there was no one else.

Right?

Of course there was no one. She'd been cooped up in the skiff too long—she was starting to lose it. Not even _psychics_ could teleport through the black.

X

_Match Confirmed_, read the screen.

Junner watched as the convict's information appeared on his screen.

"Tell me, Mr. Johns," he said, "What brings you to this lonely corner of space?"

"I'm a bounty hunter," came the reply.

Junner smirked. Not many convicts would have the balls to make that claim. But then, Richard Riddick was not just any convict.

"Then it appears we have something in common."

He pulled up the price on Riddick's head.

_Oh, yes, this man is unique_.

Junner turned, received the nod of approval he hoped for.

"Bring them in."

X

Riddick lit the blowtorch.

"No offense," Jack said, "But I don't think that's gonna cut it against whatever it is that's comin' for us."

_There's our little skeptic_, Imam thought, amused in spite of himself. She'd question every step they took, then deny she'd had a single misgiving.

Not that Imam really understood what good the blowtorch would do, but he preferred to leave their escape plan to someone who actually knew something about such things. Just as long as it was _their_ escape plan.

Riddick didn't even spare them a glance.

"Hold your breath."

X

"The girl is nothing to me," said the convict, voice flat and emotionless.

Junner wondered if he had miscalculated.

The child under his blade flinched, eyes filling.

"Then enlighten me. Why would a stone cold killer such as yourself go to all the trouble of keeping the likes of her alive?" Chillingsworth asked.

_She is a pretty little thing,_ Junner thought. His lip curled. _Scrawny, but maybe he likes that._

"Unless, of course, you've grown attached."

"She's a cover story, nothing more. You shoot her now, you'll be saving me the trouble."

The girl shook. A spot of blood appeared on her forehead where her tremors collided with the tip of the blade. Junner began to think shooting her might be a mercy.

"Then I have your blessing."

His finger had already started to squeeze the trigger when the weapon jerked, a shiv embedded in the barrel. Junner looked up, surprised. The girl took the opportunity to scramble away.

_So the killer's not ready to give up his plaything_, Junner thought. _That's a useful bit of trivia._

X

Chillingsworth watched as Riddick examined her Furyan. The statue's tongue twitched, and Riddick jerked back.

"The hell?" he muttered.

Her lips twitched in amusement—she schooled her expression. It wouldn't do for him to think she was mocking him.

Junner took advantage of the convict's distraction, hitting him with the hypo and dancing out of reach.

"Alright," Riddick drawled. "Now you have my attention."

_Very good_, she thought, satisfied.

"A necessary precaution. Should you attempt anything uncivilized—killing me, for instance—I will detonate the explosive charge Junner's just implanted and sleep very well tonight." She gave a polite smile. "Walk with me."

X

_Of course I get picked up by the crazy bitch_, Riddick thought, disgusted. _Once again, fuckin' typical_.

"Lady," he said aloud, "Your taste sucks."

She just sighed. "I expected as much. Junner."

Her pet pressed a button, and the curtain across from Riddick started to rise.

"You see, Riddick," she continued, "There is a fundamental difference between you and I."

Riddick responded with heartfelt honesty.

"Yeah. You're a psychopath."

She ignored him. Too bad.

"You don't appreciate art. But I believe the reason for this is something very different than you or anyone else might think."

She reached up, put a hand on either side of his face. Her claws rasped against his skin.

"You are an artist."

Riddick thought of a woman he'd known who mixed poison with her nail polish, and shook Crazy off.

"I been called a lot of things in my day. That ain't one of 'em."

"You make art, Riddick," she insisted. "Not analyze it. You shape it with your own hands, carve it from flesh and bone."

Bitch just was _not_ letting this go.

"…but a man like you does not understand such a thing by being lectured. You must _experience_ it."

That musta been Junner's cue, because he dimmed the lights. Riddick turned away from the woman, and caught sight of what had been behind the curtain.

"Oh, shit."

X

"Go ultraviolet," Chillingsworth commanded. A shiver of anticipation danced up her spine.

X

"I was on a pilgrimage," Imam muttered. "Just a pilgrimage."

The collar was cold against his neck, and just a bit too tight.

Jack's voice came out of the darkness. "This is bad, huh?"

The girl had a great gift for understatement. At least she sounded calm.

"Give it a minute," Riddick replied.

_There are times_, Imam thought, _when_ _honesty really is not all it's cracked up to be._

"Imam," the convict continued after a moment, "Pray."

The holy man swallowed. Suddenly their odds seemed much, much worse.

X

Jack heard gunfire, screams. She had a moment to be thankful they weren't Riddick's.

Then she was choking.

It wasn't until Imam was there, holding her, that she realized what had happened. Something had knocked that goddamn sphere out from under her. She clung to the holy man, gulping as much air as her abused throat would allow.

Imam took her arms, thrust them around his neck, and grabbed his own collar. This time she understood. She managed to get a hold of the rope seconds before he sent their support spinning away.

X

Riddick used one of the aliens as a springboard, cut the others down. Holy man leapt right up again—Jack was slower.

"Get her on her feet," he snapped, hoping she hadn't hurt anything in the fall. Wouldn't that be fuckin' perfect?

"I can't see!" Imam cried.

"You don't want to."

X

"Beautiful, beautiful creature," she murmured.

"Shrill are an exquisite species," Junner replied.

Chillingsworth rolled her eyes. Junner had his uses, but there were times…

"I'm talking about the _man_."

X

"You wanna go?" Jack heard him growl. "Let's go."

Imam pulled the collar off her neck.

"They're gonna kill him," she hissed. She didn't realize she'd moved forward until she felt arms holding her back.

"_What could __**you**__ do for him, anyway?"_

The voice was strange. Jack shook her head, confused.

Imam was holding her tight.

"Please child, no," he whispered. "You'll only get in his way."

X

He killed one, but the other grabbed him, a tentacle wrapping around each arm. The shiv went flying.

"No!" Jack shrieked, and he heard her running.

_Stupid kid…_

All she did was distract it for a moment before it sent her flying. Its grip on him never let up.

Its stinger was coming at him, but he twisted, so it severed one of its own tentacles.

"Riddick?" she called.

"Here!"

She sent the shiv flying straight to his waiting hand—he had a split-second to appreciate her aim as the thing reeled him in.

He shoved the blade deep into its core and leapt free of the falling carcass.

The lights came on.

X

Someone was clapping.

"Bravo!" exclaimed the woman on the dais. "The grace, the expression, the sheer _violence_ of it! Exquisite."

Imam's first thought, ridiculously, was, _**What**__ is she wearing?_

Riddick muttered something from the corner of his mouth, but Imam didn't catch it.

"What?" he hissed.

"Give me the knife."

It took Imam a moment to find the thing and work it free.

The woman was still going on. "Such a complete and thorough performance. It leaves only one question…"

"I got a feeling you're not gonna like it," Jack muttered.

Imam passed Riddick the blade.

"…how will I ever have you mounted to do it justice?"

_Mounted? Riddick? _Imam thought. _Is she insane?_

X

"No!" the bitch gasped as he held the blade on his own throat. Moron thought he was threatening to off himself.

By the time he'd dug the explosive out of his flesh, she'd figured it out and was lunging for the detonator.

"You gonna keep that?" Jack asked.

"Down, now!" he snapped.

The explosion sent him flying. He'd hardly hit the ground when Jack was there, tugging on his shoulder, dragging him to his feet.

He gave her a shove, and they ran.


	14. Chapter 14

(AN) Okay, since several reviews have discussed this, I figure I should as well. _Yes_, I _will_ explain what happened to Lynn. Promise. But if I just toss it out now, it's not gonna make much sense. Let me build up to it, alright? On a related topic, big thanks to everyone who reviewed. It's good to know people are so interested in this story.

The way Chillingsworth had been frothing at him, Toombs hadn't expected to wake up until they were back with civilization. Apparently there'd been a change of plans. Something big was going down, and he was damn well gonna figure it out. He knew just where to start.

He headed for the bridge and sat at one of the consoles.

"Alright. Just what's the big deal?" he muttered, pulling up the most recently accessed data.

"Woah-" he exclaimed as a number—a price—popped up. "Jumpin' Jesus."

His eyes narrowed. He went back farther.

A voice recognition scan, and they'd hit the jackpot.

_Riddick, Richard B._ read the screen. Talk about a goddamn payday.

Toombs grinned. "Come to Papa, you beautiful, bald bastard."

X

Jack's lungs burned.

Different parts of the ship had different gravity levels, and it was screwing her all up. The lower the gravity, the more trouble she had.

_Guess I should be grateful we haven't hit any areas with zero grav yet_, she thought. But she didn't feel grateful.

The guys weren't having trouble with it, of _course_. She tried to imitate the way they moved—pushing off the floor with both feet, then slicing through the air. Graceful. Not just Riddick, either. _Imam_ was soaring like a freaking eagle.

Jack fumbled and narrowly avoided flipping in midair. She felt about as graceful as a crippled duck.

X

Something squished under his boot. Toombs looked down. He'd stepped on what looked like a tentacle of some sort. Like from a squid, but bigger. And he was betting that blue gunk was the thing's blood.

It was sticking to the bottom of his boot. Gross.

"What in the hell happened here?" he muttered.

Carmichael's testy response, "Shut up and take point," was the only answer he got.

X

An inhuman roar sounded behind them—all three spun around.

_Not again_, Imam thought, feeling sick_. Please, Allah, no more monsters._

"What was that?" Jack hissed.

X

Riddick hauled himself up to the next platform, then turned and reached down for Jack. He had just started to lift when a searchlight lit her up.

"What the-"

The mercs opened fire. A bullet trailed red-hot across his arm, and she slipped out of his hands.

His heart stopped.

He grabbed for her, just barely managed to catch the waist of her pants. He heaved her up, flung her to safety. He checked the wound—hardly even bleeding.

"Are you badly hurt?" Imam asked.

"Just a graze this time," Riddick answered, already moving again.

"_Him_? He almost tore me in half!"

Riddick snorted. _Ungrateful little bitch_.

X

They scaled the steel cliff of the ship's main reactor, following Riddick.

A bellow split the air. Toombs's mouth dropped open. That wasn't a sound he was likely to forget anytime soon.

Chillingsworth had unleashed the Galls.

"That bitch," he snarled, climbing faster. "Move!"

Suddenly he remembered why he'd been looking forward to getting off this junk heap.

X

Fear was the only thing keeping her moving. It felt like every muscle in her body was screaming at her. Maybe some that weren't actually hers. She thought about just lying down and hoping the end came quick, but shoved the idea aside.

Maybe stubbornness was helping, too. Her Papa had always said she had a hard head.

Ahead of her, Riddick skidded to a stop and spun to face her.

"We cannot stop," Imam panted.

"We're not outrunning this thing." Bastard didn't even sound winded.

Jack caught up. She stood bent nearly in half, trying to get her breath back.

"Not the three of us."

"What?" Her head jerked up. "I can keep up!"

He didn't even look at her. "Maybe someday."

Jack shook her head, fighting back tears.

_Fuck him_, she thought. _I'm sick of hearing about someday_.

X

"Get her to the flight deck," he told Imam.

"It's just aft, upper level?"

Hold man'd been paying attention.

"Yeah," Riddick confirmed.

He pushed Jack behind some pipes, gesturing for Imam to join her. "Stow in there and let whatever's following pass. When it does, make for the flight deck and don't look back. No matter what you hear."

"We'll wait for you," Jack said.

The hell? Did she just tune him out when she didn't like what he was saying?

"Follow Imam," he growled, turning away.

"What're you gonna do?" she called.

He ignored her.

X

"Sweep it," Carmichael commanded.

"I got something," Smith said.

"Check it out."

Toombs turned to see the other merc holding up a bloody scrap of cloth.

"Don't touch that!" he yelled.

"Oh shit," Carmichael whispered.

The floor shook with the creature's approaching footsteps. They backed up, forming a line. As soon as it came around the corner, they opened fire.

Riv was the first one down. Smith was gone a second later.

Toombs spun and shot open a water main. As Carmichael was lifted off her feet, he dove into the pipes.

X

Riddick watched the mercs die, then waited until the thing moved directly below him.

When it was in the right spot, he dropped from his perch, aiming for the spot where the neck met the base of the skull. The force of his landing snapped the thing's neck, and he rode its collapse back to the floor.

This monster was surprisingly easy to kill. It was a nice change of pace.

He found the remains of his shirt and held it up, disgusted.

_I ain't putting that back on_.

He turned—there was a body lying a few yards away. Looked about the right size…

X

Junner knocked out the priest and grabbed the girl by the back of her shirt. He hauled her up to eye level. She punched him, knocking his glasses askew.

He slammed her against the wall, wrapping one hand around her throat and squeezing. The other hand fixed his glasses.

She gave him the finger.

Junner smirked. The kid had spunk, for all the good it did her.

She cried out, pounding at his arm as she struggled for air.

"Let her go."

Junner dropped her and turned.

"It's me you're after," Riddick said. "You want a shot at the title?"

X

As Riddick had expected, Junner drew his blade and threw the gun aside. The merc still had the advantage of reach—that bayonet was a hell of a lot longer than Riddick's shiv.

But reach wasn't everything.

X

He sent the convict's blade spinning through the air. For a moment Junner thought he had won. But Riddick dodged, quick as a snake, seized his arm, and twisted. Junner dropped his own weapon and slammed his fist into his opponent's face.

X

_Time to end this_, Riddick thought.

He watched as Junner retrieved his blade and walked towards him.

When he was close, Riddick grabbed a cable and looped it around the merc's neck, pulling tight. Junner did what anyone would—he cut the cable.

The lights went out.

Riddick smiled.

X

When the emergency lights came on, Imam saw the merc dead on the floor and Riddick walking away.

He had a moment of panic. "Wh-where are you going?"

Riddick didn't look at him. "Gonna prep this ship and get off this heap."

"So _we_ can escape?" Imam asked pointedly.

Riddick just waved for him to follow.

X

"It is over," Imam told her. "We have survived."

Then came the gunshot.

Riddick was on the floor, with that _bitch_, the fucking bitch who had just put them through hell, standing over him.

She was screaming something, but Jack didn't care about that—all she cared about was her savior, her _friend_, who was about to die.

Jack didn't think—she just grabbed the tool closest to her, and she used it.

X

It took him a moment to process the fact that he wasn't dead. Then Riddick pushed himself to his feet, clutching his wounded shoulder.

"Im-" he started, but it was the kid standing in front of him.

"Yeah," Jack said. "We made it."

He looked her over. Her tiny hands looked much too comfortable holding the big gun. Her face was too calm—serene, even. He wondered if it hadn't sunk in yet.

"Awfully uncivilized thing you just did there, Jack," he said.

She watched the woman's blood spread across the floor, but her expression didn't change.

X

Imam watched as Jack pulled out the rations. Apparently this ship had been kept fully stocked.

She looked at him. "You should eat something, Imam."

The gun rested in her lap.

"Not now, child," he replied. "I'm not hungry."

She shrugged. "At least drink some water, okay? You don't look so good."

X

Riddick stared at the stars, but his mind was on the girl behind him, sleeping with a gun clutched in her arms like a teddy bear. He'd checked to make sure the safety was on, but he hadn't tried to take it from her. She deserved whatever comfort she could get, even if he didn't like how she was getting it.

She'd been asleep a good four hours now. Not a single nightmare.

"Riddick," said the holy man, sitting beside him.

Riddick glanced at him, then away. "Trouble."

"Yes. It is nothing back there… what worries me lies ahead of us."

He knew what that meant. "Jack."

The other man hesitated. "I'm concerned for her, Riddick. That she'll become…"

Something inside him twisted. It hurt. "Like me."

Imam didn't say yes, but he didn't say no, either. Riddick knew the preacher would have denied it if he could have.

The program finished running, and the information on the UV planet he'd selected came up.

"What is that place?" Imam asked.

"That's no where," he answered, knowing the preacher would take the hint. "I'm dropping you guys on New Mecca."

Imam looked relieved. Riddick wished he felt the same.

"But a ship this size don't have the juice to take us straight there—we're gonna have to stop along the way. It'll take longer than it would in a vessel that's better equipped."

"How long?"

"Month and a half—two months tops."

"Very good."

X

_He dreamed of pale, strong limbs and long, dark hair. He held her, and she dissolved in his arms._

"_Where are you?" he called._

"_Behind you."_

_But when he turned, he found a man, kneeling by a pool of blood._

_Riddick moved closer, but the stranger didn't seem to see him._

_The man dipped a finger in the blood and brought it to his lips._

"_Bless us, dark lady," he whispered. "As you will, let there be death."_


	15. Chapter 15

When Jack opened her eyes, Imam was asleep across from her, snoring lightly. She smiled. Riddick was slumped in the pilot's seat, feet up on the dash. She couldn't see if he was awake or not, so she crept up behind him as quiet as she knew how.

"Hey, kid," Riddick said.

Jack jumped.

"Hey," she replied after a moment. "How's it going?"

"Just fine," he said, not looking at her.

Jack sat. "How's your shoulder?" she asked.

"Fine," he said evenly.

The hell? Had someone shoved a stick up his ass while she wasn't looking?

"You got _shot_," she snapped. "Explain to me how the hell that is fucking fine."

He finally looked at her. After a moment he gave a small smile. "Bullet went straight through, missed everything important. The ship's medkit is fully stocked. It'll heal nice and clean. Couple of weeks, only thing left'll be a scar, and those are easy enough to get rid of."

"Oh."

There was a moment's pause before she asked, "So where we headed?"

"First stop's gonna be Menthe. We'll be there in about two days."

Jack nodded. The girl and the convict sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Riddick?"

"Yeah?"

"I just been thinking, maybe you could… I mean, you don't gotta, but if you got nothing better to do, maybe…"

"Spit it out, kid."

"Would you teach me to pilot?"

Riddick smiled slightly, and she relaxed. The request hadn't annoyed him, and he hadn't laughed it off.

"Guess I could show you the basics," he said.

X

He wanted to care for her, nurture her, even coddle her. Do all the things he hadn't been able to do for his own boys. But despite that, there were times when Imam forgot that Jack was just a child. She had been through so much, stayed so strong, that she often seemed older than her years.

And then there were times like these.

"This _sucks_," she whined. "I don't need any more new clothes, Imam."

"I'm afraid I disagree, my dear," Abu replied.

"But--"

Imam sighed. He shifted the bags to his right hand and put his left on her shoulder, in case she tried to bolt again. "Just a few more clothing shops, Jack. Then we'll get you some shoes and be done."

"How many's a few?"

"Two."

She grumbled under her breath, but didn't argue anymore. Abu was glad he couldn't hear exactly what she said—he really wasn't in the mood to continue their debate on the Proper Language for Young Ladies.

He steered her towards the shop's door, and she stopped.

_What now?_ he wondered, holding back a groan.

Her mouth had dropped open in awe. "_Look_, Imam," she said, gesturing across the street. "A whole store full of just _candy_."

Imam smiled. "So it is. If we finish quickly, perhaps we could stop in there before heading back to the ship."

"_Really_?"

"If we have enough time."

She grinned, and even led the way into the store he'd been guiding her towards. Then she stopped and took in the selection offered. The smile slid off her face.

"Imam, this's a store for _girl _clothes."

X

_They had her. _

_Monsters. _

_All the monsters in the verse, with fangs and venom, scales and slime, and cold, dead eyes._

_They'd torn off her clothing, and her skin was covered in blood. She screamed._

_He fought. He killed. Over and over and over. One creature died, another replaced it. He never got tired. But he never got closer to her, either._

_Blood sprayed. Bodies fell. _

_She screamed—_

X

One moment she was pacing, cursing under her breath.

Then Riddick was on his feet, shiv out, lips pulled back in a snarl.

Jack froze.

She stood as still as she could, hardly even breathing. It felt like years slid by as she waited for him to move.

Finally, he lowered the blade.

"Sorry," she squeaked. "Did I wake you?"

He didn't reply. She had to look away from his gaze; her eyes fell on Imam, still sleeping soundly.

"What are you doing up?" he asked.

Jack shrugged. "Nightmare. And then I had too much energy to get back to sleep."

"Nightmare," he growled.

She eyed him warily. "Yeah. I dreamed the merc-bitch had me and…" Jack hesitated, then decided now wasn't the time to mention Riddick's head being blown off. "…you weren't there and I couldn't fight."

He continued to stare at her. She met his gaze for a few seconds, then looked away again.

"You wanna learn to fight?" he asked.

Her gaze snapped back to his face. "You'd teach me?"

"Girl oughta know how to defend herself," he said. "C'mere."

X

"Come, child," Imam commanded gently. "Pray with me."

Jack groaned, but got up. The trio had fallen into a routine of sorts over the past month. She prayed with Imam, exercised and sparred with Riddick, prayed some more. Imam told her religious stories, and Riddick threw in an occasional piloting lesson.

She glanced at Riddick—he'd decided she needed to backtrack, learn some more math before they got into navigation. She'd been working on some problems he'd set her when Imam had called.

The convict smirked at her. "Don't look at me, kid, I ain't getting you out of it. You can finish those later."

She rolled her eyes at him, then headed back to where Imam was waiting.

She would never admit it, but the chants were relaxing. The repetition cleared her head, and the sound of the words was soothing, even if she wasn't sure what all of them meant. She kind of liked them.

"Allahu akbar…" they began.

X

"You got any family, kid?" Riddick asked.

He didn't think it mattered—she was on her own, wasn't she? If her family'd been worth shit they'd have held onto her. But Imam wanted to know, and he knew she wouldn't open up to the holy man. Imam might 'do the right thing' and send her back. So Riddick had waited until the priest was asleep, then brought it up. If there was anything worth telling, he'd talk to Abu tomorrow.

"Guess that depends what you mean by 'family'" she answered after a moment. "None who'd be looking for me, if that's what you're after." She considered, then added, "My dad might want to, but he's in the slammer."

"What for?" he asked idly.

"Killing Mom," she replied.

"Sorry," he said, because it seemed like the kind of thing normal people would say.

Jack shivered. "Don't be. She was a bitch."

Riddick had no idea what normal people would say to that. After a moment he reached out, rubbed the back of her neck in what he hoped was a comforting way.

The girl shot him a smile, then looked down, fiddling with her torn shirtsleeve. "He took me with him, after. We were on the run for a little over a year before they caught him."

"That when you started being Jack?"

She shrugged. "I used a lotta different names that year. Sometimes I was a boy, sometimes I was a girl."

They sat in silence for a moment before Jack continued, "You know, the social workers, the police, they all told me he was a real bad man. But he used to sing me to sleep at night."

Riddick frowned. A disturbing thought had occurred to him. "Do I remind you of him, Jack?"

She shot him an incredulous look, then laughed. "No. No, no, no. He's nothing like you, Riddick," she said, grinning. "No one is."

X

Three and a half weeks later, they were in orbit around Helion Prime. Riddick scowled down at the planet. He'd never seen a place so fucking _bright_.

He'd known it would be like that, logically. Helion Prime shared its light with the rest of the system, kept the other planets running. But there was a difference between knowing something and seeing it.

_Won't have to put up with it for long,_ he thought. _I'm just here long enough to see them get settled._

He ignored the pang of regret that followed the thought. This way was best. Eventually, the mercs were gonna come for him. If she was around when they did, nothing good would go down. Either she'd be hurt, or she'd kill again. He wanted her life to turn out better than his.

Speaking of the girl…

Riddick turned to face her as she tried her best to sneak up on him. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She sighed, shoulders slumping when she realized she'd been caught. Then she forced the chagrin off her face and mimicked his expression.

Cute.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, kid," he told her.

"Alright," she said. "I'll practice. I'll get you someday, see if I don't."

"That right."

"Bet your ass," she promised. "You won't even see it coming."

He shook his head. "Sure, Jack. Sure."

X

This was not how he'd imagined seeing New Mecca.

Abu was dirty, battered, physically and emotionally exhausted. Walking through the streets, he found himself flinching at the crowds, reaching compulsively for his prayer beads. The sun was blinding after so long in space.

Worst of all, though, his boys were not by his side.

He'd thought the worst of his grief was over. Then he had set foot on holy ground, and he had learned differently.

They would have been so excited. To finally be here, to finally see the places they had heard of all their lives. Instead, their lives had been cut brutally short.

Imam realized he had lost track of his current companions—he spun, searching for them.

He found them, not far away. Jack was clinging close to Riddick's side. Her eyes were wide—awe and a bit of intimidation—and the convict had a hand clasping her neck, near her shoulder. The man was scanning the crowd warily, unmoved by the city's monuments.

Abu rejoined them, and Jack immediately began asking questions about their surroundings.

_They were a blessing, my boys,_ he thought as he answered her. _But so is Jack_.

He would continue to grieve for them. He was a father, and they were his sons, and he knew he could never completely let them go. But Jack was here now—he would not neglect her. He had not been able to save his boys, but perhaps he could help Jack heal.

X

A week passed, and then another. When Imam registered Jack at a local school, Riddick knew they'd set down roots, and it was time for him to go.

He was straight with her. Told her he was leaving, and why. She didn't say anything, didn't even look at him. He thought she probably wanted to look like she didn't care, but she didn't manage it. She was blinking too much, holding back tears, and her jaw was clenched tight. She was trembling, just a tiny bit—she probably didn't even notice that.

He'd expected her to yell. He'd expected her to scream and cry and probably attack him. He'd prepared himself for that, but she didn't do it.

She shut him out. That was worse.

"Jack," he snapped. She didn't respond. "You hear me, kid?"

"Oh, I _heard_ you," she drawled, voice slow and thick and way too calm.

In his mind, she was a flame. She warmed, she brightened, she glowed. Lose control of her, and she'd burn. She should have been burning now, but she wasn't—she was icy. It was just a front, it had to be. She was a damn good actress, and he knew it, but he'd thought she wouldn't put on an act with _him_. Stupid.

"Look, I don't like this either," he said. "You think I wanna spend my life running? But it ain't safe right now."

Silence. He moved closer. Habit made him reach out and cup the base of her neck. He let himself savor the feel of her pulse for just a second.

Then he continued. "This ain't forever, Jackie. It'll be safe someday. I'll come back for you. Promise."

"_Don't_," she snarled. Finally, she turned to him. He looked for the familiar heat in her eyes, and couldn't find it.

"Leave, then," she said. "I sure as hell can't stop you, can I? But don't make empty promises to keep me from whining. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't _ever_ fuckin' _lie_ to me."

His hand fell away from her skin. She was shaking harder now, and he knew she'd have nightmares tonight. What did that matter, though? He wouldn't be around to deal with them.

Looking at her, he knew there was nothing he could say to convince her he meant what he said. Hell. He didn't mean it, anyway. Sure, if it was ever safe, he'd be back. But odds were it never would be. He'd wanted to leave on good terms with her, but if this _was_ the last time they ever spoke, she deserved better than a lie.

So he ran his hand over her short curls one last time. "I'll miss you, kid," he muttered.

Her eyes filled, but she turned away before he could see the tears fall. He waited for a moment to see if she'd say anything to that. There was a faint sting of disappointment when she didn't.

Finally, he turned and walked away. It was a hell of a lot harder than it should have been.


	16. Chapter 16

Imam opened Jack's door and sighed.

The girl was at the window, staring out. Her face was blank, and she stood perfectly still, frozen like a statue. He had no idea how long she'd been there—he knew from experience it could have been anywhere from five seconds to forty-five minutes. Longer, for all he knew.

He didn't know where she went when she got like this. Whenever he asked what she thought of while she stared into the distance, she just shrugged and changed the subject.

"Jack," he said softly.

She twitched, and life seemed to flow back into her stationary form. She turned to look at him.

"I was considering what to make for supper," he told her. "Any preferences?"

"Not really," she said, as he'd expected she would.

"Is your homework finished?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

Abu glanced at the pile of books by her bed, wondering if she was being truthful. She pretended not to notice, moving forward to put a light kiss on his cheek.

"I'm gonna go for a run before dinner, alright?" she said. It wasn't really a question.

"Be back soon," he said. "It's getting dark."

If she replied to that, he didn't hear her.

X

"Jack," Riddick called. "Could you grab me—"

Then he remembered.

His fist slammed into the wall, scrapping his knuckles and leaving a small dent.

Dammit, it'd been months. The fuck was wrong with him? He'd done what he could for the brat. He'd left her somewhere nice and clean and safe.

Maybe the problem was that he couldn't _see_ she was safe for himself. Maybe he should've stayed in touch with Abu, so the holy man could give him updates.

Somewhere along the line, protecting that damn kid had become one of his top priorities. Something he would kill for without a second thought—something he already had killed for. A lot. He wasn't sure if it was something worth dying for, but he knew he was more than willing to bleed a bit for it. He'd done that, too.

The part of him that operated on base instincts didn't see how letting her out of his sight could help protect her.

But he knew better. The mercs were gonna be following his trail, and he'd be damned if it led to her. No, when they caught up with him, it'd be on a nice, empty hellhole of a planet. No collateral.

No one was gonna die for him this time.

X

She had never believed in love at first sight. Attraction, _lust_, of course. But true love had to have solid foundations, and those took time to build.

But when Abu al-Walid walked through her office door, Lajjun seriously considered changing her views.

It wasn't that he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Because he wasn't. By far. He was good looking, but in a kindly, elder gentleman sort of way. Appealing in its own right, but hardly life changing.

They stared at each other for an endless moment, gazes locked together. Then Lajjun looked away, embarrassed. When had her thoughts started sounding like a sappy vid?

"Sit, please," she said once she had regained her composure.

He did as she asked, smiling politely. "What did you want to discuss with me?"

Right. Her job. She was principal of a small private school. Not exactly crazy romance material.

"Your… daughter?" she made it a question—he didn't look anything like the girl—but he didn't dispute the term, so she continued, "…Jaclyn. Jack. I'm concerned about her."

"What about her, exactly?" he asked.

"There's several things that have come up. She's currently failing four of her eight classes. It's not lack of ability. It's apathy. She's got an E in her Composition class—but both papers she bothered to do got at least B's."

"Both?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a look Lajjun had seen on Jack's face, though the girl made it seem much more hostile. She wondered if the girl had picked it up from the man, or vice versa.

"Yes. She's only turned in two all semester. The other classes she's having trouble in—History, Government, and Introduction to the Arts—are the same. They don't interest her, so she doesn't do anything for them."

He sighed. "I'm afraid that doesn't surprise me. What about the other classes? Is she on the verge of failing them, too?"

She shook her head. "That's how I know ability isn't the issue. She's got an A+ in physical education--"

To her surprise, that made the Imam roll his eyes, a long suffering expression on his face.

"—A B+ in her computer class, an A- in math, and a solid A in the _honors_ science class. That's a very challenging course."

He smiled. "She's a very intelligent girl."

"Yes, she is. She just doesn't always like to show it. Imam…" she hesitated, unsure of the best way to broach the next topic.

"Please. Call me Abu."

She smiled. "Abu, then. What concerns me more than her grades is her behavior. The way she interacts, on a social level, with the people around her."

His face fell—lines appeared around his eyes and mouth. "The fights, yes? That's what you're getting at?"

"Partially, yes. She rarely starts them, but she's quick to turn to physical violence. And she causes a good deal of damage—she's the only one in these brawls with any kind of skill. Some sort of martial arts training?"

He snorted. "Something like that."

"It's a major problem, made worse by the fact that the kids she's fighting can't match her. But it's not the only problem. She doesn't make friends—doesn't even try. Her teachers describe her as closed off, cold—unless they have something to teach that she wants to learn. Then she opens up and shines… but still, she doesn't act much like a young girl."

"No, she doesn't. But she's not cold."

"Not to you, and that's a very good sign. Abu… am I right in thinking that Jack has been through a great deal of… hardship, in her life?"

The lines dug deeper, and she glimpsed grief in his eyes deep enough to drown in.

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you are."

She nodded, staying silent for a moment out of respect for all that pain. Then she said, "I'd like to start by having her see the school councilor."

He cracked a smile. "Oh, she won't like that at _all_."

X

"Why don't we play a game if you don't feel like talking?" the words slipped out of his mouth uncensored.

He winced, but the girl's eyes flicked to his face and stayed there, as if in her mind he'd finally done something interesting.

"What game?"

"I'll say a word—you reply with the first thing that pops into your head."

She laughed. The sound surprised him—up until that moment, she'd been quiet and sullen.

"Word association?" she asked, smirking. "That ain't a game. That's an old-fashioned, clumsy try at getting in my brain."

That was the most response he'd gotten so far. "Well, you're not cooperating with more subtle methods, so I thought it'd be worth a shot. You want to play?"

She continued to stare at him. Her gaze was surprisingly intense.

"Sure."

He gave her a small smile and started. "Cat."

"Claws."

"Music."

"Song."

The smirk had faded, but was still visible—the smallest twist of her lips.

"Home."

"Warm."

"Safety."

"Strength."

"Knife."

She blinked, frowned a bit, and threw out, "Tool."

_Odd response_, he thought.

"Fear."

"Screaming."

"Love."

She jerked as if he'd slapped her, turned that gaze on the wall. Her jaw clenched, and she pressed a fist against her mouth.

He'd just given up on getting an answer when he heard her whisper, "Silver."

What _that_ meant, he had no idea.

X

Jack woke, screaming in the dark. She rolled over, muffling her cries in her pillow before she could wake Abu.

He didn't know she still dreamed.

She couldn't tell him about these. Not about the way the gun felt in her hands, or the joy of pulling the trigger, the purity of doing what you _had_ to do… She couldn't share the horror of seeing Chillingsworth's features replaced with his, or Riddick's, or Shazza's, or Carolyn's.

How do you tell a holy man you dream of murdering him?

She couldn't tell him how the bitch's rotting body screamed at her, called her evil, called her a killer, told her she would burn in hell. He'd probably agree with her.

Jack's sobs grew. She clamped her teeth down on her wrist, trying to slow them.

She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't breathe. The walls, the house, and the whole fucking planet were closing in on her. She'd tried to be the good girl, tried to get her shit straightened out, but she was alone and scared and hurting and she needed Riddick.

It was the first time she'd admitted it, even to herself, since he'd left.

Imam was wonderful and kind and good, but she _needed_ Riddick.

Riddick would know what to do. Riddick would know how to kill the nightmares and control the fury that ate at her. She wouldn't have to be ashamed around Riddick—he would understand.

She _had_ to find him. She couldn't pretend anymore.


	17. Chapter 17

"We'll give you ten percent—ain't much, but fer a starting cut it's decent, 'specially since we're gonna have'ta train you up. Once you're doing more o' the work, we'll start giving you more o' the pay. Sound fair?"

Jack hesitated, studying the man seated across from her. Collin Litner was his name. He had greasy hair, stubble that couldn't quite be called a beard, and a faint hint of body odor. But his posture was alert, and his gaze was sharp.

He was a merc. The knowledge creeped her out, sent shivers crawling up her spine if she thought about it too hard. So she tried not to.

If Riddick could see her now… hell, he'd be beyond pissed. For her to even _consider_ signing with mercs…

_Well, fuck him_, she thought. _If he hadn't bailed on me, maybe I wouldn't be stuck on this rock with no one else to turn to. _

"Well, kid? What'cha think?"

_Fuck him straight to hell, that's what I think._

"I'm in," she replied.

X

He sat, catching his breath, and watched his new bride dance with one of her brothers. The man spun her, and she threw back her head and laughed. Carefree and beautiful.

He loved her. So much.

Abu took the glass one of his guests offered, and took a small sip. Fruit punch, heavy on the pineapple.

_A week or so after they'd arrived on Helion, he'd bought a whole, fresh pineapple, grown in one of the area's many greenhouses. Jack had been comically suspicious of the thing at first—poking at it, examining the spiky leaves. Then he'd cut it up and offered her a slice._

_When she could speak again, she had screamed for Riddick._

_The convict had come flying into the room, shiv in hand, ready to destroy whatever was threatening the girl. And found her sitting on the counter, holding out a piece of fruit for him to try._

Abu shook his head, banishing the memory, and looked up at the night sky. Somewhere out there was his little girl.

_She should be here_, he thought, angry and aching. _Home, with the people who love her. Why aren't you here, Jack?_

X

Jack lay in the darkness, cold and naked. There was a sharp pain between her legs, and throbbing aches everywhere else. Her throat was so dry it felt cracked, and she was nauseous with hunger.

Her eyes were dry—she wasn't sure she was capable of tears anymore. That didn't mean she hurt any less. She had hoped that after awhile, she would go numb to the pain. It hadn't happened. She was just better at functioning with it there.

Now, she pushed the hurt, the hunger, and the thirst to the back of her mind. She would deal with them later. For now, she needed to rest—she'd regret it tomorrow if she didn't.

As she drifted off, a voice flowed through her head.

"_This isn't it. This isn't even the worst thing in your life."_

When she woke in the morning, all she recalled was a dream of warmth. It wasn't much, but it was more than she was used to.

X

"Abu," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her nerves.

Her husband looked up, a smile on his face. "Yes, darling?"

She went to him, kissed his cheek. "I love you," she whispered against his skin.

"And I love you," he replied, sounding concerned. "Lajjun, what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure wrong is… the right word," she said, stalling. "I…"

He pulled her close. "Tell me."

"I'm pregnant, Abu."

He went stiff. She turned in his arms so she could see his face. His jaw was set, and his eyes stared past her, at something she couldn't see.

"Abu?" she whispered.

He swallowed and turned that haunted gaze on her. "I can't lose another child," he said. "I can't."

She pressed her forehead against his.

She didn't say that he wouldn't. She didn't tell him everything would be alright. He would know those words were false. She didn't say that the verse was unpredictable, that there were no guarantees. He knew that all too well.

She just held him.

X

She had an idea, one she'd been toying with for awhile now.

It probably wouldn't work. Mostly it relied on chance.

It'd probably get her beat bloody. Or killed. The odds were shitty.

But she was beyond desperate. Shitty was starting to sound real good.

She still hadn't made up her mind when one of them opened the door. She stood, then let her body go boneless and slid to the floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head—her body twitched and shook.

_Guess I'm going through with it_, she thought.

"Fuck," the man—it was Palmer—growled. "She's havin' some kinda seizure!"

"The hell you talkin' about?" called Litner from down the hall.

Palmer scooped her up, roughly, and threw her over his shoulder. A short walk, and she was dumped, still twitching, onto a cold metal surface.

_The med bay. Fuckers actually fell for it…_

She risked opening her eyes for a split second. And she saw it.

_Allahu akbar_, she thought, amazed at her luck. _Guess He finally thought to check in with me…_

She lunged for the scalpel.

X

She left their bodies where they had fallen. Just for a little while—she would clean up soon. First she looked around the ship. All the ones she had ever met were dead, but there might be more on board.

She didn't find any men, but she came across a door that had the lock pad on the outside. Like the one she had been in. She took a keycard off one of the bodies and swiped it. Inside was a woman, naked, with tangled blonde curls that showed dark at the roots. She flinched when the door opened.

"It's safe," said the intruder, hiding her stolen pistol behind her body. There wasn't much she could do about the blood. At least she had taken the time to put a shirt on.

"Safe?" the stranger whispered. "Safe?" The word ended in a hysterical giggle.

The killer backed out. She grabbed a water bottle and returned, tossing it to the other woman.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded.

She didn't say Jack. Didn't even start to say it. She'd come to hate that name. Jack wasn't her—Jack was pain and fear and 'yeah, you're a hot one, Jackie', and 'shut up you stupid whore'.

"Kyra," she replied instead—it was the first thing that popped into her head. "You?"

The woman gulped at the offered water before answering. "Lynn. I'm Lynn."

The name rang a bell, somewhere deep inside her brain. But the woman on the bed didn't fit the half-remembered scene.

"Nice to meet you, Lynn," said the girl who was now Kyra.

Lynn stood carefully. "It's really safe?"

"Really. They're dead."

"_Dead_?"

"Yep."

The woman stared at her. "That's their blood?"

Kyra sighed. The adrenaline was fading fast, now. She was starting to sway on her feet.

"Mostly," she answered. "I got a few cuts."

Lynn slipped to her feet and padded closer. "Let me take a look at them?"

_A precise row of stitches in a man's leg. A pair of hands, delicate and calloused, expertly tied off the last one._

"Kyra?"

"What?" she asked.

"Maybe you should sit."

"Sit?" her voice sounded funny.

Lynn said something else, but she didn't understand. Dark shapes were sparking across her vision—she realized she was on the floor.

The last thing she saw was Lynn's hands, reaching out to her.

(AN) Sorry, guys. Painful, but very necessary to the plotline.


	18. Chapter 18

She came to with a strangled cry, feebly striking out at the specters that followed her.

"Kyra. It's alright, Kyra. Everything's fine."

The lights were too bright. She squinted through them, took in the sterile room, the woman by her side, the brilliant crimson dripping down a tube into her arm.

"Who—" she rasped.

"Lynn, remember? You let me out. I'm Lynn."

_And I'm Kyra now_, she thought. _Right_.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You collapsed," the other woman answered. "You'd lost a lot of blood—I don't know how you were still on your feet. Luckily the bastards kept the med-bay well stocked, and they've got some quality med programs, told me what to do. I ended up having to give you a transfusion."

"My hero," Kyra muttered. Then she winced. "Sorry. That was just…"

"I don't mind being a hero," Lynn said.

"Yeah, well. You saved my life, I shouldn't be bitchy."

"Way I figure, we've both earned the right to be a bit bitchy."

Kyra just shrugged. There was a moment of silence as Lynn studied her.

"How old are you, Kyra?" she asked.

Kyra frowned as she realized she didn't know the answer. She wasn't twelve anymore, she was sure of that. But had one birthday passed, or two? She'd lost all track of time.

"Sixteen," she lied.

Lynn rose a skeptical brow, but didn't press the issue.

X

_He thrust the knife down, felt it pierce the bone, felt the body beneath jerk and go limp. He twisted, and the blade snapped off at the hilt._

_It was done._

_He struggled to his feet, fighting a thousand pains. Blood ran down his body, dried in sticky rivers. Some of it was his. Some was not. He collapsed, gasping. It would have been damn easy to kill him, right then._

_But that was okay, because there was no one, nothing, to do it._

_His pulse, a solitary rhythm, throbbed in his ears. Death was everywhere—he was the only thing left alive. _

"_You ever think how much less fucked up the verse would be if there was just… no one? No people?" whispered a ghost._

_He didn't bother to answer._

_A single drop of blood ran down his cheek. He reached up and caught it on a finger. It glistened, and he stared._

_Not blood. _

_A tear._

X

"_Dammit_," Kyra muttered, glaring at the screen in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Lynn asked.

"They've got this thing coded. I can't get into their files."

"Can I see?"

Kyra shrugged and stood. Lynn took her place at the console, pulled out the keyboard, and started typing in commands manually. Kyra watched, fascinated, as her fingers flew over the keys.

"Gottcha. Their security on this thing is shit."

Kyra blinked down at her, impressed.

"You're a hack."

"Yeah." The older woman glanced at her. "We're still on the course they had plotted out. I know absolutely nothing about piloting…"

"I do," Kyra said.

"Well, thank god. You thought about where we should head… where you're gonna go? Long term, I mean, for the second."

Kyra shrugged. "Some." Enough to realize that she _had_ nowhere to go. It made her feel tired.

"We're real close to Lupus 5."

"That's where I joined up with these fuckers."

"Then you know it's a shithole. But… I got some friends there. Good friends. You saved me, Kyra—they'll take you in, too."

Kyra sighed. She rubbed the back of her neck, and remembered that Riddick had done that. The thought made her feel strange. Her memories of him were faded, as if Jack and Kyra really were two different people, as if they had really happened to someone else.

She had needed him, she remembered that. Desperately, like she needed food and water and even air. But he hadn't been there.

"Tenth for your thoughts," Lynn said.

"Sometimes," Kyra replied, "Friends aren't what you think they are."

"Is that a no?"

She shook her head. "Just a fact, Lynn. Let's go see your friends."

X

They were in orbit. Kyra figured it was time to discuss a few things.

"You know," she said, in what she hoped was a casual tone, "I never actually took formal piloting lessons."

"No?" Lynn asked. She didn't look away from the view of Lupus 5.

"Nope. Just a guy I knew, showing me stuff when he had nothing better to do."

"Hmm. You're a pretty good pilot, considering."

Kyra coughed. "Bout that. He never did get around to take offs. Or landings."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Maybe we should call planet-side for help."

"That'd probably be a good idea."

X

Demarco Sanders was feeling pissy as hell.

He'd accomplished his goals—well, some of them. He owned his own club, was turning a nice profit. He was the boss, he called the shots, he even _owned_ the building. And all before he hit twenty-five.

It was his dream—a fairly common one, though not many made it reality.

But when he'd fantasized about what it'd be like, he'd never imagined so much damn _paperwork_.

His wrist-unit buzzed.

"Yeah?" he answered, grateful for the distraction.

"_There's a chick out here says she knows you personal,"_ said Griff, one of his bouncers.

"She got a name?" Demarco asked.

A pause. _"Says it's Lynn."_

Demarco's breath caught in his throat.

_An easy laugh, a devil-may care grin, and heartbroken tears when she realized what she'd done._

"_Boss?"_

_There's a billion 'Lynns' in the verse, _he thought. _But what if it's her?_

"Send her back."

X

The music pulsed through her bones, sent her skin buzzing. Surprising, because she kind of liked it.

Kyra looked around, taking in the flashing lights, the crowded dance floor, the bare, glistening skin of the strippers. Male _and_ female, she couldn't help but notice.

Lynn had a small smile on her face.

"He's done well for himself!" she said, nearly shouting to be heard.

The bouncer jerked a thumb, gesturing for them to follow.

X

There was a sharp knock, then the door opened, letting the pounding music into his sound-proofed sanctuary. Demarco looked up, and there she was.

She looked _different_. He'd never imagined her as a blonde. And fuck, but she was thin.

Lynn entered the office, followed by a girl he didn't know. Young, though he'd be hard-pressed to guess just how young. Older than twelve, younger than eighteen. Half-starved as well, with hair around the color Lynn's used to be.

The girl stood beside Lynn and looked at him like she could see his soul.

He remembered his Bible stories, from the years before booze was the only god his mother knew. _This_, he thought_, is an angel, fresh from the Fall._

"We need help, Demarco," Lynn said, pulling him from his metaphors. "A place to lay low for awhile. I'll work for you—I'm a solid hacker, and I'll charge less than what the work's worth…"

This woman was the closest thing he had left to family, and she knew it. What the fuck had happened, to make her so hesitant?

He didn't ask.

"There's a couple rooms upstairs you can have," he said. He'd lived up there for awhile when the club was just getting started, but he'd moved out as soon as he had the money for it. "Don't worry about rent. And the rest… we'll talk, alright?"

"Thank you," Lynn said.

He didn't comment on the relief in her voice, or the exhaustion on her face. He just shot her the smirk she'd once teased him about.

"So," he said, "Who's your friend?"

X

"Why do you dye your hair?" Kyra asked at lunch the next day, after Lynn returned to the club with her roots newly lightened. "Got a problem with brown hair?"

Lynn flashed a smile at the brunette across from her. "I didn't use to. It's… a change. I look in the mirror, and I look different. It's good. I don't like the person I was before."

"Before what?"

Lynn looked away. "The mercs decided it'd be most profitable to slave me out… but that wasn't why they picked me up in the first place."

"Why, then?"

Lynn shook her head. "So, what you think of Demarco?"

Kyra hesitated, but let it go. She turned her thoughts to the man. Her first impression had been of some pagan god, a masterpiece in ebony, with eyes like chips of the Black.

"He's interesting."

X

The man who went by Eric Hansan sat in his booth, facing the room. He had a beer in his hand, plenty of money in the bank from his last job. Life was good.

A girl caught his eye—not because she was especially good looking, but because she seemed much too young for this place. Though she _was_ pretty. If she wasn't careful, she'd be catching other eyes.

She turned and met his gaze. _Her_ eyes were green, brilliant, fiery, and older than she was. He watched her, and she didn't look away.

After a long moment, she broke eye contact, starting across the room. To his surprise, she walked straight up to his booth and sat.

"Eric Hansan?" she asked.

He smiled. "And you would be?"

"Kyra," she replied, and engaged the booth's privacy settings. "I have a proposition for you."

X

"Do you know what that man is?" Lynn hissed as soon as Kyra entered their 'apartment'.

Kyra didn't bother to ask what the other woman was talking about. She knew.

"Yes."

"He's a hit man, Kyra," the blonde snarled, ignoring her frank answer. "A killer for hire. What could you possibly want with him?"

"What's it to you?" Kyra snapped. She'd known they would have this fight eventually. She'd just hoped to put it off as long as possible. So much for that idea.

"You're my _friend_, Kyra. I'm _worried_ about you. Do you even know what that means?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you would be! Correct me if I'm wrong, but ain't I the one saved _your_ ass?"

"And then I saved yours. That's not the fucking point. You're getting in over your head. He's dangerous. He's not the kind of guy you just chat with."

Kyra glared. "Can't argue with that. So I guess we weren't just 'chatting'. Will you get off my fucking back?"

"So you hired him?"

"Manner of speaking."

Lynn swore, and Kyra sighed, hating the horrified look on the hack's face.

"Look, it's not like that, okay? He's gonna be my teacher."

"_Teacher_? The fuck is he gonna teach?"

"What do you _think_, Lynn?" Kyra asked impatiently.

More cursing. "Why would you want to know that shit? Who else you gonna kill?"

"Who the hell do you think?"

"I don't _know_! The only people I can think of are already _dead_. You already killed them!"

"Not all of them," Kyra said. "Just the ones who started it."

"What are you talking about?" Lynn demanded.

"You remember them. You remember them. The sick fucks who used us, who raped us, hit us, made us bleed and scream…"

Lynn's jaw dropped. "You wanna go after all the men who bought us? How do you even know who they are?"

"The mercs kept records. I have a list."

"You have a list. You have an honest-to-god, fucking hit-list. Holy hell."

Lynn turned away, paced the length of the small room. Kyra swallowed, searching for the words she needed. Maybe no one else would understand what she was trying to do. She didn't really expect them to. But she _wanted_ Lynn to.

"They're monsters," she said. "Billion times worse than any horror-flick bogeyman. They look so fucking normal, but they're evil, and you know it. The things they did to us… and then, when they were done, they just walked away. They'll never pay for what they did. Not if we don't do something."

"They will," Lynn said softly. "They'll get what's coming to them. Everything comes full circle eventually." She moved forward slowly—no sudden moves—and slipped her arms around the younger girl. "Problem is, the circle's usually too big for little creatures like us to see it."

Kyra sighed. "Yeah, well, this time, I'm gonna be helping it along."

"Kyra…"

"No," Kyra interrupted, pulling away gently.

"Fine," Lynn said. "Fine."

But both of them knew that wasn't going to be the end of it.


	19. Chapter 19

(AN) Ahhhhh!! I have had more trouble with this chapter... I'm still not completely happy with it, but after weeks of picking at it, I still can't put my finger on what exactly's bugging me about it. Maybe I'm just nuts. Also, I think I might have to up the rating on this story soon, so be on the lookout for that. Thanks!

Later that night, she slipped into the alley behind the club, looking for a little fresh air. Or as fresh as it got on this heap. A woman—one of the strippers, from her outfit—looked up and gave her a grim smile.

"Smoke?"

"No thanks."

"I'm Susan," the stripper said.

"Kyra," she replied.

"Pretty name." The other woman lit up, leaning against the wall. "You're too young to be here. What you doin' here, huh?"

She shrugged. "I'm a friend of a friend of the owner."

"That right." Susan sighed. "You oughta get out of here, hun."

She didn't say where 'here' was—the club, the area, the city, the planet. From the defeated tone of voice, Kyra was guessing 'all of the above'.

"So should you," she said.

Susan snorted. "Ain't that the fuckin' truth."

They stood silently for a moment. Kyra watched the trails of smoke escaping the dancer's lips.

"Never really thought I'd end up here," Susan said softly. "I was so fuckin' sure I'd find a way out."

"You always think you'll be the one," Kyra muttered.

"Yeah. Had a friend who made it. Pat went places. When we was kids, he promised he'd take me with him." She shrugged. "But you know. Don't work that way."

"No."

"I sent him a message, couple years back. Begged him to come save me. He didn't. Guess I kinda hate him for that."

"Trust me," Kyra said, "I know that feeling."

X

_Why did I agree to this again?_ Eric wondered as he watched the girl walking towards him. She was just a _kid_, for godssake—and she wanted him to turn her into some kind of vigilante?

She didn't know what she was asking. How could she?

He'd considered taking her on an easy hit, right off the bat. Put a gun to the mark's head, wrap her finger around the trigger, tell her to pull it. See how she reacted. It'd probably scare her off, and that wasn't a bad thing. Just looking at her, he could tell she was going to be a hell of a lot more trouble than she was worth.

But then, she _was_ paying him, if only in labor, and it wasn't such a bad idea for a young, attractive girl to learn how to fight. With a face like that, living where she lived, she was going to need it. So maybe he wouldn't shove her in the deep end just yet.

Of course, there was more than one way to scare the brat off. She wanted him to teach her, he'd damn well _teach_ her.

He smiled at her, and she hesitated for a second before sitting across from him. The smile widened.

"Ready to get started?" he asked.

X

Eric Hansan was a sadist. He had to be, to put her through this shit.

Kyra had never worked this hard in her life. Never even imagined working this hard.

She was up by eight every morning, ignoring Lynn's sleepy curses as she prepared for the day. She took the time to eat a real breakfast—Hansan insisted—and was at his place by eight-thirty.

She never knew exactly what they'd be working on, or in what order—he liked to switch things up. When she'd asked, he'd given her a blistering lecture on the dangers of falling into a routine. For a man who had never wanted to teach, he was damn good at lecturing.

He'd been impressed for all of a minute by the fighting she'd learned from Riddick. Then he'd knocked her on her ass and pinned her.

"There's more to fighting than just jabbing at whatever happens to be within reach," he had said. That strategy had worked just fine for her so far, but she didn't bother to point that out.

"You're small," he'd continued. "You're fast. You need to learn to use that. And you're too polite."

"_Polite_?"

"Yeah. Forget diamonds—_tricks_ are a girl's best friend. You're never gonna be as strong as most guys, that's just a fact, so use what you can. Fight _dirty_, for fuck's sake."

And apparently, hacking at people with a scalpel wouldn't cut it for a killer-for-hire. He signed her up for online classes in anatomy, psychology, physics. Anything less than a B, he told her, and she'd take the class over—but next time, she would have to pay for it. There was an acting class, too—twice a week, in a rundown little studio in one of the city's 'better' areas. She actually enjoyed it, to her surprise.

Hansan, the bastard, liked multitasking. It drove her insane—weapons lectures while lifting weights, security system diagrams while she was on the treadmill, first aid demonstrations during meals. And Allah save her if she _forgot_ anything important. Every time he opened his mouth, she felt like she should be taking notes. After awhile, she started carrying a notepad around and did just that.

And that was just the lessons. She had to make time to 'pay' him for them, too.

He had her running errands for him a couple times a week—and with him, running meant _running_. She cleaned his home, cooked his meals (brave man), even cared for his weapons, though he had yet to let her do that without supervision.

It was strange, working so intimately with a man she couldn't bring herself to trust. Not that she was really trying. She'd already learned that lesson.

He walked her back to the club most nights—sometimes still _talking_. She showered, maybe spent a few minutes talking to Lynn, and collapsed in bed somewhere around three.

Lynn thought she was insane. Kyra was having a hard time arguing.

X

Hansan stopped in the gym's doorway. Kyra was on the mat, stretching out after her run. She had diagrams of the nervous system spread on the floor around her, and she was frowning down at one of them.

"What you got there?" he asked.

She glanced up at him and shrugged. "Nerve impulse overview," she replied. "There's a test coming up."

"You having trouble with it?"

"Not really," she said, but she didn't sound very confident.

"Explain it to me, then," he suggested, crouching beside her.

"Alright…" She moved the paper so he had a better view of it and licked her lips. "Normally in a neuron, K+ diffuses out and Na+ is pumped out. 'Cause they're positively charged, inside the cell ends up with a negative charge compared to outside the cell. They call it resting potential."

He nodded—as far as he remembered, she'd gotten it right so far.

"When a impulse—nerve impulse—moves through the neuron, the positive ions are pumped back into the cell, which reverses the charge for a bit. That moves down the cell like a wave, then on to the next cell… and that's what makes a thought."

"Good," he said.

"Kinda weird, isn't it?" she asked. "When you think about it. Then think that that's what's making you think…"

"People been thinking 'bout why we think for a couple millennia now," he told her. "Waste of time if you ask me."

"Then why am I taking psychology?"

"That's how and what we think, not why." He grabbed another paper. "Tell me about this."

Together they went over the parts of a neuron, the differences between the central and peripheral nervous systems, and the locations of major nerves in the body.

It was surreal, sitting on the floor helping a pretty teen—preteen?—study for a test. Like he'd stolen a piece of someone else's life. Once again (it'd happened a lot since he'd realized she was in this for the long haul), he found himself wondering what the hell he was doing.

He wasn't used to second-guessing himself. He didn't like it, so he turned his thoughts to the discussion he was planning on having with her. He wasn't exactly sure how it would go down, but figured there was a high probability of violence. He was kind of glad about that.

Kyra was gathering up her papers.

"So tell me," he said, "Who did you kill?"

Her head jerked up—he saw fear for an instant, before she managed to clear her face.

"What you talking 'bout?" she asked.

"Oh, c'mon," Hansan replied. "Did you really think I wouldn't be able to tell?"

She just stared at him.

"So what happened?" he drawled, trying to piss her off. "Pimp knock you around one too many times?"

It worked better than he expected—she threw herself at him, knocked him flat on his back.

_Damn, she's fast_.

He wasn't surprised she'd managed to take a life.

She punched his face, but from a bad angle, so she didn't get all her strength behind the blow. _Sloppy_, he thought, even as he winced.

He decided one free hit was enough, and flipped them, pinning her to the floor. She snarled at him—actually snarled, like some big cat—struggled, tried to bite, and didn't even come close to getting loose.

That was a problem, because he'd taught her how to break this hold a couple weeks ago.

"Control!" he snarled back at her. "Control it, dammit."

She stared up at him, teeth bared. Maybe she _was_ part cat.

"You're angry, aren't you?" he asked. "I'm thinking you have some serious anger issues."

She jerked upwards, trying to throw him off.

He continued, "Anger's damn important, Kyra, but you gotta control it. _Control_ it, it can make you stronger. But now you're letting it control you, and it's making you careless. You _can't afford_ carelessness, Kyra."

She was breathing too fast, almost panting. He saw furious tears well in her eyes, watched her choke them back.

"Good," he murmured. "Now tell me. Who?"

She looked past him. Maybe seeing things he couldn't, maybe just avoiding his gaze.

"Antonia Chillingsworth," she muttered. It would have been inaudible if he hadn't been literally on top of her. "Collin Litner. Sam Palmer. Jim Wessin. Tony Pizzrori. Kyle Vicks."

He blinked. "_Six_?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," he said, taking that in. "How?"

"Rifle. Scalpel. Pistol."

He waited, but she didn't elaborate.

"Why'd you do it, Kyra?"

"Cause I had to."

"Why?"

Her gaze returned from the point over his shoulder. "Because they would've done worse to me."

Her voice was hard and brittle—asking if she'd done right, daring him to tell her she hadn't.

He just nodded and let her up. "Need you to pick up some stuff for me," he told her. "There's a list on the kitchen table."

"Alright," she said, easing away from him. "Okay, then." She stood, gathered her scattered papers, started to go.

"Kyra," he called, and she turned. "Tomorrow, bring a copy of your list."

Her face lit up. Apparently all it took was a couple words to make the girl do an emotional 180. "Sure. I'll do that." She grinned. "Thanks, Teach."

_Teach?_

He grimaced. "_Never_ fucking call me that again."

She was already down the hall. He heard her laugh.


	20. Chapter 20

"What's that?"

Kyra jumped. Her hand clenched into a fist around the data chip.

"Nothing," she lied. "Just… just homework."

"Oh," Lynn said. "Do you have to finish it? Or you wanna play some cards or something before you turn in?"

Kyra didn't let the relief show on her face. "Rat screw?"

X

He expected a list of names, but there was a hell of a lot more than that on the chip she gave him. There was a file on each man—some of them held more than others. Some of the information was vital, some useless, and some completely random. Kyra had a lot to learn about researching for hits.

Speak of the devil—she poked her head into the room. "Lunch's ready." She glanced at the screen, bit her lip. "When do you think we'll… do one?"

"Soon," Eric answered. "I gotta go off planet for my next job—should be gone about four days. When I get back we'll start prepping."

She gave him a bright grin. "Which one?"

"I'll tell you when I'm done looking through this."

"All of it? I mean, there's a lot there. I've been working on that since I found the names."

He shrugged. "Give me something to do on the flight." He spun to face her. "Don't slack off while I'm gone."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, _Dad_."

Brat.

"Four whole days on your own," he mocked back. "You sure you'll be alright?"

"Will you?" she asked sweetly.

"I don't know," he replied, trying to sound mournful. "I'll _miss_ you, kid."

Her smile disappeared.

X

She'd expected to be killing people the day after he got back. In reality, it was three weeks before he deemed her 'ready'.

"Here." Eric tossed her a can. "Put this on—two coats on your hands, and your arms up to the elbow. One everywhere else there's skin showing, except your face."

"Why?" she asked, turning it in her hands.

_Seal-up_, read the can, in bold blue letters.

"C'mon," he said. "You have to have heard of this stuff. It's like putting on a glove—prevents fingerprints and trace evidence—dead skin, hairs, and shit—but doesn't restrict your movement or sense of touch."

"Huh. Like what the cops use," she said. "I thought civilians couldn't buy it."

He laughed at her. "You can buy anything, if you know where to go. Put it on."

She obeyed. The spray went on cold and smelled nasty. She shuddered, then turned so Eric could do her back.

"You remember what I told you?"

"You've told me a hell of a lot of shit."

He just looked at her. She sighed.

"I remember."

"Good. Let's go."

X

He'd dressed her up like a whore. Partially because it was a good plan; partially because the sadistic side of him wanted to test the control he'd been trying to beat into her. A micro-mini, stiletto heels (she'd spent a week learning to walk in them), a backless halter-top, and heavy, glittery make-up. She looked like a cheap piece of jailbait trash. Perfect.

The outfit would be a real problem if she had to actually fight. But if everything went well, that wouldn't be necessary. The pleather handbag he found her was a surprisingly good—if incredibly tacky—fit for a .45 semi-auto and silencer. The mark was moving past middle age, overweight, with no fighting experience and no record of gun ownership. And just in case, Eric had given her an alarm bracelet. All she had to do was push a button, and he'd be there.

Easy. She could handle this.

The clothes were grating on her nerves, he could tell by the way she tugged at them and scowled. He held in a smirk.

X

His name was David Kavangh. Not that that meant anything to her. At the time, she hadn't known the names of any of the men who used her.

He opened the door and leered at her. She repressed a shudder. She _did_ remember his face.

"I hear there's a birthday boy somewhere round here," she said, pasteing what she hoped was a sultry look on her face.

He grinned. "Did Mikey hire you?"

"That's right. You gonna let me in?"

He backed away from the door. She entered the dingy apartment, closing the door behind her.

X

He grabbed one of her tits, bit the side of her neck. She pulled back.

"Slow down, relax," she whispered. "How bout I dance for you first?"

Mikey must have paid her good, if she was offering extras.

David dropped down on the couch. He leaned back and rubbed his dick through his pants. The whore bent over slightly, giving him a nice view down her shirt, as she reached into her purse.

She pulled out a gun.

David straightened up. "What're you doing?"

She pointed the gun at him.

"You don't remember me at all, do you?" The bitch laughed. "I like that."

He held up his hands, slowly. "Hey, hey. Let's relax, like you said. We can work something out here, no need for the gun."

"Sure," she said. Her smile wasn't reassuring. "Let's work something out."

"You want money?" David asked. "I can get you money."

The gun didn't move. Her finger, he noticed, was wrapped tight around the trigger.

"Money's useful," she said. "But I was thinking we could start somewhere else."

"Yeah?" He eyed the distance between them, wondering if he could knock the gun out of her hands before she got off a shot.

"How many girls have you raped?"

Fuck. Sounded like this was personal. "I never-"

"_Don't_ lie to me, Dave," she snapped.

Her hand tightened on the grip of the gun. He stopped breathing for a second.

"I dunno," he answered quickly.

Her face darkened. A small tremor ran through her body. Her knuckles were starting to turn white.

"Lynn's wrong," she whispered. "I'm doing the verse a favor."

X

"You were up there a long time."

Kyra glanced at her mentor and tried to wipe the silly smile off her face.

"Yeah. I emptied the clip."

His brow furrowed. "Did he give you that much trouble?"

She laughed. "Oh, he was easy. I coulda taken him with one shot."

"Then why didn't you?"

She sobered a bit, but Eric's disapproval wasn't enough to wreck her mood tonight. She wondered if this was what getting high felt like.

"Got kinda carried away. I'll do better next time."

"Glad to hear it."

She just grinned. "It's kinda funny, you know?"

"What is?" he asked.

"Well, I got in by saying I was his birthday present… really, he was mine."

He started to smile too. "It's your birthday?"

"Tomorrow, technically. But I was born around midnight, so it's a close thing."

"That right." He glanced at his watch. "You know what? Take the rest of the night off."

She blinked. "What?"

"Take the night off. Have some fun. You can even sleep in a bit tomorrow, long as you still get everything done."

Shock made her even more giddy. It wasn't a bad feeling. "You serious?"

"You got two things to celebrate tonight, Kyra. Ain't common to get even one, so make the most of it."

She grinned again—this time to say 'thank you'.

X

He caught a glimpse of her from across the room and paused in surprise. The grim angel who'd been haunting his club for nearly half a year now was sitting at the bar, a drink in her hand, talking to the bartender. She was grinning.

Demarco threaded his way towards her. The place was packed. Just the way he liked it.

He reached her side just in time to hear her shouting after the bartender. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"It's not _supposed_ to, exactly," the harried woman called back. "Look, I'll explain later, when we're not swamped, alright?"

"Hey," Demarco said. "You decide to join the rest of us mortals?"

"Just for the night," Kyra replied. "I'm celebrating."

"I can see that," he told her, eyeing the glass she held. "What you drinking?"

"Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters. Did I say that right?" She grinned again. "Susan suggested it. It tastes good."

"Yeah, I know."

He glanced at the dancer, who had just started her set. That was _not_ the drink he'd have suggested to a girl he'd never seen even touch alcohol before.

"What are you celebrating?" he asked, deciding not to take the drink from her right this second. Judging by her grip on the glass and the gleam in her eye, she'd probably take a swing at him.

A shrug. "Life. And death." She raised the glass in a sloppy salute. "And every fucked up moment in-between."

He would have expected bitterness in that statement, especially knowing the shit she'd been through, but what he heard was almost child-like glee. Cute.

She looked young and sweet and was obviously tipsy. Magnet for trouble. He couldn't leave her here like this, not Lynn's friend. He could take her up to her room, but what were the odds of her staying there? He'd have to find Lynn, have her watch her wayward pal.

"You wanna help me celebrate?" she asked, and smiled. Suddenly she was young and tipsy and really-not-so-sweet.

"How?" he asked.

She grabbed his hand. "Dance with me, Demarco."

She leapt to her feet in a movement that was—well, not clumsy, exactly, but the least graceful he'd ever seen her. One of her arms slipped around his neck; the other dumped half her drink down her neighbor's back.

_Now __**that**__ was clumsy._

"Oops," she said.

Her victim spun, cussing them out.

"Jesus, chill," Kyra said, rolling her eyes. "You ain't gonna melt."

The other man's face darkened.

"Sorry 'bout that, man," Demarco cut in, gesturing to the bartender. "Here, your next round's on the house, alright?"

He grabbed the remains of Kyra's drink and set it on the bar.

"Hey!"

He caught her wrist as she reached for it. "Girl, if you can't even stand up without spilling it, no way I'm letting you dance with it. You wanna dance, right?"

She rolled her eyes again, but nodded. He resisted the urge to do the same as he led her onto the dance floor.

His hands found her hips; her body moved against his. She tossed her head, and a few stray curls brushed his cheek. He smiled, because drunk or not, Kyra was a good dancer.

X

She opened her eyes and the light pierced her.

"Lights off," she rasped.

A soft laugh. "They already are, Kyra."

She dared to open her eyes, just a crack. Lynn was leaning over her, smirking, and the room was still too bright.

"Close the fucking shades then."

Lynn laughed again, but obeyed.

Kyra gave a relieved sigh as the room went dark. She sat slowly, taking stock. Her head spun and throbbed. Her stomach rolled, then settled into a sort of gritty nausea. She was wearing yesterday's clothes, and they smelled like alcohol and sweat. She was in her own room, in her own bed. That at least was good.

"Demarco dumped you on me at closing time," Lynn told her. "Had a hell of a time getting you up the stairs. You remember that?"

"Yeah. Vaguely."

She swung her legs off the bed and pushed herself to her feet. When she was sure she wouldn't topple over, she let go of the bed. A glance at the clock made her wince.

"Eric is going to eat me."

Lynn snorted.

"No, really. He'll slit my throat, gut me, and sauté my spleen with pesto sauce."

"Morbid."

"But accurate." Kyra accepted glass of water Lynn offered, and gulped at it. "There's this guy I'm supposed to meet with today, designs concealed weapons—knives in belt buckles, that kind of shit. Before he gets here, I've gotta finish my psych report, fix the sink, oil the guns…"

The older woman winced when Kyra rattled off that last one, so she stopped talking.

"Sixteen is too young for this," Lynn said quietly.

Kyra pretended she was talking about the drinking. It was easier.

"It's my birthday," she replied. She didn't mention that she was only turning fourteen. Details. "How old were you, your first time?"

Lynn's jaw clenched, and she drew a harsh breath. "I managed to make it to nineteen without killing anyone. Fucking amazing, I know."

So much for pretending. "What happened at nineteen?"

Lynn didn't answer. Instead she swept out of the room, closing the door sharply behind her.

Kyra flinched and put a hand to her aching head.


	21. Chapter 21

"Hey. You're home early."

Kyra paused, glanced at the clock. Twenty-three twenty-nine. "Don't have time to talk," she said shortly. "Didn't get to the report this morning. I've got half an hour to finish it and send it in."

"Can you spare just a minute?" Lynn asked.

Kyra hesitated. After a moment, she looked up. "Yeah?"

"I just… I wanted to apologize. For this morning."

Surprised, Kyra studied the other woman. Lynn was biting her lip, fiddling with the hair-tie around her wrist.

"This morning?" Kyra repeated.

"I… lost my temper. I shouldn't have. You just brought back bad memories, Kyra. And I'm worried about you."

Kyra snorted. "You don't gotta worry about me."

Lynn shrugged. "Maybe not. But I do."

Kyra took in her friend's furrowed brow, troubled eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, and realized something important. Lynn was, at her core, a kind of idealist. When Lynn looked at Kyra, she didn't necessarily see a good person—or a bad one—but one worth saving. Lynn would never give up on her, because that would mean giving up that belief. It would mean more fights, it would be annoying as hell. But when the time came (and Kyra knew it would, eventually), Lynn would be the one left behind. _Kyra_ would be the one walking away. She liked that.

"Thank you," she said.

"Yeah, well." Lynn smiled, very slightly. "I'll let you get back to work."

X

"How's Kyra doing?" Demarco asked.

"Hmm?" Lynn asked, looking up from the computer. Her face held a sort of vague irritation, like it always did when someone interrupted her work.

"Kyra," he repeated. "Haven't seen her since that binge of hers a couple weeks ago. She avoiding me or what?"

"Avoiding you? Doubt it." She went back to the screen. "Don't think it would occur to her."

"Not worth the effort, huh?"

"That's right," Lynn agreed absently.

X

Eric heard the door open. He spun to face the computer, opened a few windows. Made it look like he was deeply involved in what he was reading, like he'd had no trouble concentrating since she'd left.

She headed down the hall, entered the office. He didn't look up until she set the gun on the desk.

"Well?"

"One bullet left," Kyra told him.

He snorted.

"It's better," she said.

X

There was a knock on his office door.

"Come in," Demarco called.

The door opened. Kyra slipped into the room and sat on a corner of his desk.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," he replied. "What's up, girl?"

She shrugged. "Got a few hours free. Lynn's working. I'm bored."

"What you expect me to do about it?"

She shrugged again and grinned. "Wanna dance?"

X

Eric looked down at the pair of bodies, then up at his pupil. She was wiping blood off one of her blades.

"Reel 'em in and cut 'em down," he said. "Good job."

"Thanks," she replied with a quick grin. "I like these hidden blades. You think your friend would show me some more tricks, if I asked nice?"

"Probably," Eric answered. "He liked you. Lot of people'll pay a lot of money for his gadgets, but not many'll willing listen to him talk about them for five hours straight."

"They're interesting. And it's like you said—the hell with diamonds, right?"

"That's right, Kyra. Let's go. You can get changed and call him from the apartment."

X

"What are you reading?" Lynn asked. Her voice was strained.

"It's an article about sociopathic personality traits," Kyra answered, looking up. "For my Psych class."

Kyra studied her friend. Lynn's face was pale, her jaw clenched, her eyes too bright.

"What's wrong?" Kyra asked.

"Ironic," Lynn said.

"What?"

"You've got blood in your hair."

X

"Eric?" Kyra said.

She was standing at the head of the weight bench, spotting for him. His eyes were closed as he pushed. That was new—when she'd first started learning from him, he'd always kept a wary eye on her.

"Yeah?" he answered, opening his eyes.

"Am I a sociopath?"

For a second he faltered. Her hands slid forward to grasp the bar, but he recovered and lifted it on his own.

"I think the fact that you're worried about it means you're not."

"Does that work in reverse?"

He frowned up at her. "What?"

She bit her lip, thinking of how to word it. "It's really more like… curiosity that I'm feeling. So since I'm not worried, does that mean I am?"

"Hell if I know, Kyra," he replied. "You wanna know moral shit, talk to a priest or something. I teach you to survive, I teach you to kill. I don't do ethics. Alright?"

"Yeah," she said, knowing there was no way in hell she would seek out a priest. She wasn't _that_ curious.

"Good," Eric said, and closed his eyes.

Kyra hesitated, suddenly caught by a different question. Then she gave a mental shrug. What harm could it do? Eric wasn't the type to hit her if she offended him. At least, not too hard.

"Do you believe in God?"

The eyes opened; the brow furrowed. "Why?"

She shrugged for real. "Curious."

He shot her an exasperated look as he pushed. His arms were starting to shake, a little. She paid a bit more attention to the bar. He did two more reps, then racked it.

"I'm not religious."

He sat up.

"Why not?"

He shook his head at her, but answered, "Haven't found a religion yet that didn't depend on faith, Kyra. And since, the way I see it, 'faith' means 'irrational belief in the impossible', it makes going to church awkward."

X

Winter hit suddenly, covering the city with snow that turned to mush as soon as it hit the ground. Hansan scowled out the window at it. He'd always hated the cold.

"Aw, _fuck_."

He turned. There was a pot on the stove. It was on fire.

Kyra beat the flames out with a dishrag, then glanced at him sheepishly.

Eric shot the notes spread on the counter a pointed glance. "Don't you have enough trouble cooking without trying to study at the same time?"

"I know, I know. But finals are next week." She stared down at the remains of their meal and sighed. "How do you feel about pizza for dinner?"

X

Alan Facet had never touched Kyra. But he'd spent three nights with Lynn. That was, in a way, worse. Kyra wondered if Eric knew that, if that was the reason he'd insisted she use poison this time.

"It's time to expand your repertoire," he told her.

"Right." She held up the vial, eyeing its contents suspiciously. "Will it hurt?"

"Won't be pleasant. That stuff's hard to spot in a corpse, less you're looking for it. The mark's got a heart condition, so they probably won't look too hard. This goes right, no one will even know it's murder."

"Where's the fun in that?" she asked.

"Kyra."

She sighed, recognizing the warning. "Fine, fine. I'll give this shit a try. It just seems… distant."

He frowned. "Kyra, I'm teaching you to kill people for money. You'll last a hell of a lot longer if you learn some distance."

X

_He saw her. She was dancing on a floor of cracked glass. With every step, the cracks spread like spider webs beneath her. He wondered what would happen when the glass finally shattered. Wondered if he would have to be the one to catch her. _

_She had a partner, a man—man-like figure—of smoke and steel. They moved together, slow and graceful, and everywhere he—it?—touched her, blood spread across her skin and stained her clothes. Her dress. _

_He'd never seen her in a dress. _

_Blood trickled down her neck. He wondered if it was hers. Hoped it wasn't._

_He walked, carefully, up to them. She didn't notice him, but It did. He ignored It, reached out and grabbed her shoulder._

"_Can I cut in?" he asked._

_It disappeared. She stumbled. _

"_Not now," she said._

"_You'll dance with that thing, but I ain't good enough?"_

"_Did you see his eyes?" she asked. _

"_It didn't have eyes."_

_She shook her head and laughed at him. The movement made a drop of blood slide over her collar bone, then down her chest, between her tits._

"_You'd choose It over me?" he asked._

_She blinked. "I could have you?"_

_He hesitated, and then it was too late, because It was back. It twirled her, swept her up, lifted her high in the air. It held her for a moment, then lowered her lightly to the floor. One of her arms wrapped around Its… neck?... and suddenly she was a lot closer to It than she'd been before._

_He reached for her, and his hand moved through her._

_He yelled, cursed, fought to reach her. She danced on, smiling up into Its nonexistent eyes._

_Glass shattered._

Riddick woke, panting like he'd been running for days. He grabbed a shiv and pushed himself to his feet. He got his breathing under control, realized there was nothing to use the blade on. But something was missing. Something…

He spent the next hour searching for someone he _knew_ wasn't there. Didn't matter. He had to reach her.

X

Kyra was on the treadmill. No surprise there. Eric sometimes thought the girl only stopped running to let the machine catch its breath.

"Got something for you," he told her.

She slowed to a walk. "What?"

"Your next kill. This one's going to be a bit different, Kyra."

"Yeah? How so?"

"This one isn't on your list."

X

Half a million. Half a fucking million UD's.

That was how much she'd earned on her first real job. Her first truly cold kill, the first time she'd ended a life for reasons other than extending her own or avenging her own.

Half a million. What could she do with half a million?

What couldn't she?

It was like a high—not the high she got from offing one of the bastards who'd hurt her, but a damn fine one. She was almost _giddy_.

Then a voice in the back of her head whispered, _"The creed is greed."_

Killed the mood.

Kyra frowned down at the cred-chip that held her new fortune. _It's not about the money,_ she told herself. She thought about all the pain she'd endured. And Lynn, as well. And however many others there were out there. _It's not about the money._

And after all, she had to support herself somehow. Couldn't live off Lynn and Eric forever.

_It's not about the money._

_Aw, hell, _she decided. _Maybe they'll keep feeding me for a just a bit longer. Out of habit or something. _

She went down to the club. Susan was on her break—smoking out back, as usual.

Kyra shoved the chip into the dancer's hands, ignoring the confusion on her face.

"Get out," she said. "Just get out."


	22. Chapter 22

By the time Kyra turned fifteen, a third of her list was gone. She knew the names, now. She'd gone over the list so many times it felt like they were burned into her skull. She mentally recited the ones still alive to keep herself amused as she did the grocery shopping.

_Henry Walters, Richard Kavlove, Jacob Briggs…_

_Make sure it's two percent, Eric bitched up a storm when I accidentally grabbed skim…_

_Patrick Sammson, Jason Malory, Miguel Argos…_

The list went on.

X

Eric heard the door open. He met Kyra in the hall, grabbed some of the bags she was carrying, and followed her into the kitchen.

"What's that?" Kyra asked, staring.

"Looks like a birthday cake to me," Eric said, with a matter-of-fact tone of voice and a mocking smile. He set the bags beside it on the table.

"Yeah, but—"

"It is your birthday, right?"

Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a comical 'o'.

"This is for me? You _remembered_?"

Her voice was stunned, incredulous, awed. The gesture obviously meant much more to her than he'd expected.

"I've got a good memory, Kyra."

X

There was a card and a gift on her dresser. There was a bouquet of roses on her bed.

Kyra picked up the card first, carefully tearing the envelope. The front showed an orangutan riding a tricycle. Kyra blinked and opened the card.

_Just wanted to give you a birthday card that's as classy and sophisticated as you are,_ she read. _Happy birthday!_

Lynn's name was scrawled at the bottom, along with a smiley face. Kyra traced both with a finger. After a moment, she slipped the card back into the envelope and put it in her sock drawer. She'd know where it was, if she wanted to take it out and look at it.

Mocking or not, it was the first birthday card she'd gotten since they took her father.

She reached for the present next and turned it in her hands, taking in the shining paper. She swallowed and started gently picking at the tape. You were supposed to rip it, she knew. But that felt wrong, somehow. Disrespectful.

She set the paper back on the dresser and examined the box. Chocolates. Lynn had gotten her chocolates?

She opened the box and selected one at random. Dark chocolate.

She bit into it and nearly swooned. Dark chocolate with a raspberry filling. Heaven. She hadn't tasted anything like it in years. Not since that candy shop Abu had taken her to.

Hell, but it'd been a long time since she'd thought about Abu.

Hoping to derail that particular train of thought, Kyra turned to the roses. Someone had thrust one of the little florist shop cards among the stems. Kyra extracted it carefully, wary of thorns.

_Happy birthday, Angel, _it read in a harsh, angular script. Definitely not Lynn's.

Maybe they'd been delivered to the wrong person? But Lynn was the only other person with a key to the rooms, and she wouldn't have let someone dump flowers on Kyra's bed without finding out where they'd come from.

_Angel_, she thought, bemused. _Me? Really? _

X

Demarco's door opened, and Kyra entered. He set down his pen, trying to remember when she'd stopped bothering to knock.

"What's up?"

"Do you have a vase I could borrow?" she asked.

His lips twitched, but he held in a smile. "A vase?"

"Yeah." She looked embarrassed. "You know, for flowers? Actually, I think one of those real tall glasses would work—you mind if I steal one from the bar?"

"Go ahead," he told her, and she turned to go. "Kyra?"

She turned back. "Yeah?"

"Put some water in it. They'll live longer."

"I knew that," she said quickly, but her face was a bit red.

Demarco nodded, still serious. "Course you did, angel."

She paused again, gave him another look.

"Thanks," she said after a moment. "I'm an idiot sometimes."

He smirked. "You want the nice reply or the honest one?"

She came closer, pressed her lips against his cheek.

"Thanks," she repeated. Then she left.

Demarco made a mental note to give her things more often.

X

A scream woke her. For a heart stopping second, she thought it was her own. Kyra lunged out off the bed. Her legs tangled in the sheets, and she went down hard on the floor. She staggered to her feet, swearing.

Then she realized where the cry had really come from. Fear, or something like it, curled through her.

She was at Lynn's side in an instant. The other woman was gasping, whimpering.

"Lights," Kyra snapped. She squinted against the sudden glare, searching for the bastard who'd dared hurt her friend.

There was no one there.

"Kyra?" Lynn whispered. "Oh god…"

_Just a dream_, Kyra realized. _Just a nightmare_.

Except there was nothing 'just' about the way Lynn was shaking.

Kyra didn't know how to fix this. She stood by the side of the bed, feeling helpless. Dammit, but she _hated_ that feeling.

_Jack would have known what to do_, she thought. For once, she regretted her transformation_. What would Jack have done?_

She hesitated, shying away from thoughts of her former self. That girl was _gone_—she had to be, after the things that had been done to her.

But Lynn was crying. Kyra took a deep breath, calling up memories she had banished years ago.

She remembered strong arms, wrapped around her, and a steady heartbeat in her ear. She remembered what he had said—and how the hell could she recall the exact words, after so long trying to forget?

"_On the one hand, you got these nightmares. Scary as hell, but the fuckers ain't real. Then there's me. I am very real. Who you think's gonna win here?"_

Kyra swore under her breath, fighting back tears of her own. She'd be damned if she'd cry any more tears over _that_. But at least she'd found what she was looking for. She sat beside Lynn and drew the other woman into her arms.

"You're safe, Lynn," she whispered. "I won't let them touch you."

Lynn twisted, pressing her face into Kyra's shoulder. Gradually the sobs slowed, then stopped. The shaking faded to a faint tremor.

"This isn't the first time you've had nightmares like this, is it?" Kyra asked softly. "Just the first time you've yelled loud enough to wake me up."

"They're not usually this bad," Lynn said.

"When did they start?"

Lynn was silent for a moment. Kyra was about to repeat the question when she heard, "Last year."

"Last _year_?" Kyra shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Lynn snorted. "I've heard you crying in your sleep, Kyra. Talking about blood and darkness and pain. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Fine," Kyra snapped. Then she bit her lip, softened her tone. "Fine. You gonna be alright now?"

"Yeah." Lynn sat up. "Got snot on your shirt. Sorry."

X

Henry Walters considered himself a good man. Not perfect—who was?—but not half bad, either. He worked hard, supported his poor Mama, didn't drink too much or too often. And he went to church every Sunday, where he confessed his imperfections—in fact that was where he was headed now. The priest's name was Bobby. He and Bobby'd been friends since grade school. It was still weird, calling him 'Father'.

He saw a little girl walking up ahead, holding her Daddy's hand. She had the prettiest ringlets, a soft gold. She glanced back, and he caught sight of warm brown eyes and a full mouth. Looked soft.

He tried to put those thoughts out of his head. He was on his way to church. Just wasn't right, to be thinking about that kind of thing on the way to church.

A teenager knocked into him, hard, and grabbed his arm to steady herself.

"Sorry, man," she said.

"Be more careful," he snapped, then forgot about her.

The sweetie in front of him was skipping, and those little curls bounced.

Henry's arm started tingling. He absently shook it out, then sighed as the girl turned to the right where he had to go straight. Oh, well. The church was right in front of him, anyway. The tingling spread up his shoulder, to his neck. His arm started to ache. He frowned, shook his head. He was dizzy, all of a sudden. Maybe he'd better sit down…

Then someone lit a blowtorch in his chest.

He fell, clutching at his heart, gasping at air suddenly turned to sludge. He would have screamed, if he'd had the air for it.

He didn't know how long the pain lasted, but by the time the darkness came, he was more than ready for it.

X

"I 'preciate you coming with me," Lynn said.

"No problem," Kyra replied. She was surprised to find she meant it.

"Your… Eric won't be pissed at you?"

"Eric's a pussy. I got him wrapped around my finger."

Lynn snorted. "I'll believe that when you get the guts to say it to his face."

Kyra raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"_Hell_, no," Lynn exclaimed.

"Try not to move," said the man behind her.

They were silent for a moment.

"Me being here seemed important to you," Kyra said. "Not sure why."

Lynn closed her eyes. "Kyra… we survived. I wanted something to remind me of that. And I wanted you with me when I got it. Because _we_ survived."

The blonde winced, and her hands tightened on Kyra's, but she held still for the man working on her back.

"Hurt bad?" Kyra asked, resisting the urge to free her hands and rub circulation back into them.

"Compared to what?" Lynn asked, making a face.

"Your idea," Kyra told her. "Your decision. Stop whining."

"I'm not. You _asked_."

"Uh-huh." Kyra glanced at the pattern Lynn had chosen. "It's… nice."

"Nice?" Lynn repeated, giving her an amused look. "You don't have to pretend to like it, Kyra. You won't hurt my feelings."

"No, I do like it, it's just… why is the bird on fire?"

Lynn laughed.

"I'm gonna need you to hold still," said the tattoo artist, sounding annoyed.


	23. Chapter 23

She held a gun to his head, made him tie the knot himself.

"Please," he whimpered. "Please."

"Please what, Pat?" Kyra asked.

Patrick Sammson was high as a kite. She'd had nothing to do with that—really, she'd have preferred he be more aware of his surroundings. On the bright side, he was much easier to handle this way.

The lights flickered and died. Kyra glanced out the window, into more darkness. Looked like power had gone out down the whole block, at least.

"It's dark," Pat muttered. "Fuckin' hell, there's no light."

"True," Kyra agreed. "What? You're not _scared_, are you?"

"M'not _scared_," he snapped, indignant. He seemed to have forgotten all about the rope around his neck. "S'just, there's no light. M'just _cautious_. Should always be cautious in the dark, 'cause there's no _light_, see? And can't nobody, can't _nothin'_ see with no _light_, see?"

"Take it you've never heard of echolocation," Kyra said.

"Echo-_what_?"

"Never mind. Why don't we go out on the balcony? Cold, but at least there's starlight out there."

"S'a good idea," he slurred.

Kyra holstered her gun—she seriously doubted she would need it with this one. She gripped his shoulder, gently steering him. The rope trailed behind them. When they were outside she picked up the free end, tied it to the railing. Patrick was too busy staring at the sky to notice.

"Can't usually see the stars here," Kyra said as she checked her knot. "They sure are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Nah," he replied, looking down. "Just light-bits. Nothin' special."

Kyra stared at the pathetic scrap of humanity in front of her, and wondered how two men called the same thing could be so completely different.

"You could see more if you climbed on the railing," she said.

"Me?" he squeaked. "Nah. Nah. Bad idea. Don't like heights."

"Worse than the dark?" she asked.

He hesitated.

"I won't let you slip," Kyra promised. "It's alright." She held out a hand. "It's alright." She helped him climb onto one of the patio chairs. "Everything's gonna be—"

"I think this's high 'nough," he gasped.

"No," she murmured. "No, you gotta go as high as you can. See what you can see."

He put one foot on the railing. Whimpered. His hand was shaking—whether it was the drugs or the fear, she didn't know.

"Shhh," she whispered. "Shhh."

The other foot. He was standing on the railing, and Kyra was the only thing holding him steady.

"I see," he said. "I can see—"

She let go.

X

"Goddammit, Kyra, will you just _listen_ to me?"

Demarco paused, raising an eyebrow, as Lynn's voice sounded loud and clear through the door.

"Go fuck yourself!"

And there was Kyra, equally vocal.

He knocked, then tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. Kyra turned to look at him when he entered the room. Lynn didn't.

"I'm just asking you to meet him," Lynn said, making a visible effort to keep calm. "Give him a chance. I already made the appointment—you just have to show up. Talk to him a bit. Give it a shot."

"You made an appointment," Kyra drawled. "That's just fucking great for you. No need to get me involved. You got the appointment—you go get yourself skull-fucked."

"I'll go if you do," Lynn answered immediately.



"Read my _motherfuckin'_ lips, Lynn!" Kyra snapped. "_Hell no_. Make me repeat it again, I'm gonna get nasty."

"Wouldn't want that," Demarco said mildly. "I think you both need to cool off a bit. Lynn, they need your help downstairs. Kyra, let's take a walk."

Both women shot him unfriendly glances. Then Lynn turned towards the door.

"We'll talk about this later," she said as she left.

Kyra snarled wordlessly and lashed out. There was a sharp crack as her fist met the wall.

Demarco frowned at the dent she left. "You're paying to fix that." She ignored him, and he sighed. "Kyra? Your hand alright?"

Her eyes flicked to his face, then away again. "It's fine," she said shortly.

He grabbed her wrist and checked for himself. She'd split the skin on her knuckles, and it was already starting to swell. He snorted.

"Right," he said. "Just fine."

He went into the bathroom, got out the first aid kit. When he came back out, Kyra was sitting against the wall, head back and eyes closed, as if she'd just leaned back and let her knees fold. Demarco picked up her hand and dabbed disinfectant on the cut. She didn't react, though he knew it had to sting like hell.

"Still think I'm a fucking angel?" she whispered.

He glanced at her. She was still expressionless, eyes still closed, as if the answer didn't matter. Her tone of voice had said the opposite.

"Yeah," he said. Causally, like it didn't matter. "Why wouldn't I?"

X

"We got a change of plans," Eric said.

"Yeah?" Kyra didn't look up from the gun she was cleaning.

"Jason Malory," he said.

"Lawyer," she replied immediately. "Not on-planet. Not even in the system, if I remember right. We were gonna save him for later."

"Like I said, change of plans. Just got word—he'll be on-planet in two days."

Now she looked at him. "What about Briggs?"

Eric raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

"Well, I was gonna—"

Eric snorted. "You're a big girl, Kyra. I think you can handle two in one week."

X

Jason Malory. Prosecutor. Husband. Father. Sick, sick fuck.

He had two kids. A boy and a girl. The girl had just turned twelve. The age Kyra'd been when he'd…

She shook it off. Couldn't help wondering, though. A little girl. Would he do to his own flesh and blood what he'd done to a helpless stranger? Or did the kid think she had a good, loving daddy, a happy little family?

Didn't really matter. Either way, that girl's life would be very different, after tonight.

X

He tossed her a bottle. Kyra caught it, glanced at the label.

"Schnapps," she read, and laughed.

"What?" Demarco asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"You want something else?"

"Nah. This is good." She cracked it open, and the sharp scent of mint filled the air.

"So what are you planning, exactly?" he asked. "Just gonna hide in my office and get shitfaced?"

She took a swig. "Something like that."

"This about Lynn?"

Kyra snorted. "That bitch?" Another long pull from the bottle. "She don't bother me."

_Bullshit_, Demarco thought. He'd spent the past three days trying to keep the peace while the girls went for each other's throats. Lynn had been worried and stubborn as hell; Kyra, insulted and abrasive. Both were angry and hurt. His club was starting to feel like a war zone. And he didn't see either of them giving in soon.

"What?" Kyra snapped. "You don't believe me?"

"Course I do," he said. "Here, gimme that."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"It ain't a bad plan."

She blinked, handed him the bottle. He took a gulp.

_Shitfaced_. He thought of Kyra punching walls, of Lynn cursing at computers. He imagined another three days like the ones he'd just finished. _Damn fine plan_.

X

Jacob Briggs died quick—a single bullet through the brain. When Kyra got back to the apartment, Eric took the gun. He pulled the clip, counted the bullets. Then he smiled at her.

She couldn't get that smile out of her head. Couldn't stop wondering if that had really been pride she'd seen in his eyes. Couldn't figure out why she kept hoping it had been.

X

_He stood at the edge of a fiery pit and watched children burn._

_For a second, Riddick glimpsed a familiar face below. It was a boy. A boy he'd almost forgotten. A boy who'd never taken a life, who'd never been to slam, who'd never heard of a shine job. A boy with plain brown eyes._

_Sparks flared, and the boy was gone._

_A monster came up beside him, leading a pretty girl by the hand._

"_Are you sure?" the thing asked._

_Riddick looked closer, past the horns and the blood and the strangely gentle claws. It was just a man._

_The girl snorted. "Do I really have a choice?"_

"_Are you sure?" the man insisted._

_The girl stared into the pit. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I'm sure."_

"_I'll miss you," said the man. Then he let go of her hand._

"_What are you doing?" Riddick asked._

_The girl jumped, then turned towards him. Her eyes were wide—she hadn't noticed him. But after a moment, she smiled. It was a good smile._

"_I'm jumping," she said._

"_The hell?" Riddick turned to her companion. "You're letting her do this?"_

_The man just shrugged. "It's her choice."_

_Riddick thought of the boy. "Fuck that." _

_He reached out to grab her, but something was wrong. His body moved way slower than it should have. _

_The girl giggled, took a step away from him. Towards the drop._

"_Kid, this is stupid," he said._

_She took another step, so she was standing on the very edge of the cliff._

_Riddick took a slow step towards her. The rock shifted a bit under his weight, and he paused._

"_This is her choice," said the other man. "You have no right to interfere."_

"_Go to hell," Riddick snapped. He took another step._

_Rock crumbled. Riddick scrambled backwards, managed to fling himself onto stable ground._

_The girl didn't even try. She laughed as she fell._

"_Helpful, aren't you?" the man asked. "Quite the hero."_

_Maybe he was a monster after all._

X

"Kyra—"

"I don't want to hear it," Kyra snapped. "I'm sick of it, Lynn."

"So am I," Lynn replied. "Look, can we just drop this?"

Kyra shot her an incredulous look. "You're just gonna let it go? After _fixating_ on it for two freakin' weeks?"

"I miss you, Kyra," Lynn said.

Kyra closed her eyes. Sighed. "You are annoying as hell, you know that?"

But there was no bite to the words.


	24. Chapter 24

"Kyra, you need to see this." Lynn's voice was sharp. It startled Kyra, because lately Lynn always sounded awkward and overly formal. They'd called a ceasefire, but neither was sure just how stable their peace was. So they walked carefully.

"What is it?" Kyra asked. She got to her feet and leaned over Lynn's shoulder to study the computer screen. It was a police report of a homicide. She read the victim's name and felt her throat go dry. "How'd you get this, Lynn?"

"I'm a hacker, aren't I?" Lynn snapped. "That's not all. Look."

She pulled up two more reports. Once again, the names were ones Kyra recognized instantly.

Lynn jabbed her finger at a point further down the page.

_Suspected connection with murders of Kavanah, David and Anderson, Lawrence. High probability that all three murders were committed by the same person…_

"Fuck," Kyra muttered.

"No shit," Lynn snapped. "They're on to you, Kyra. You—" She broke off, started hurriedly hitting keys. "Hell. They noticed me."

"They _noticed_ you?"

"Shut up," Lynn snapped.

Kyra obeyed. If she understood the situation right, the stakes were too high not to.

Finally Lynn sighed and leaned back. "Okay," she said. "Got out clean."

"Clean?" Kyra repeated. She took a breath. "Did you just hack into the police network and access information on an open murder case?"

Lynn blinked. "Well, yeah."

"Fuck, are you insane?" Kyra burst out. "They come down _hard_ on that kind of thing, Lynn. You could get _life_. Do you not get that? If they find you, they will throw you in a hole for the rest of your goddamn life. You'll never see sunlight again."

"And what the fuck do you think they'll do to you when they put this together?" Lynn snapped back.

"That's not the point."

"Bullshit." Lynn took a deep breath. "We need to leave. We need to get out of here, Kyra, before they find you."

"They won't find me," Kyra said. "I covered my tracks real good."

Horror bloomed on Lynn's face. "You're not going to stop, are you? You're not gonna stop 'til they catch you."

"They won't catch me," Kyra replied. "And I'll stop when the list's done." But as she spoke, Kyra thought of adrenaline highs and bruises and long hours studying. She thought of Susan. And she knew her last statement, at least, had been a lie.

"You sure?" Lynn asked softly. "Are you absolutely sure?"

She was backing down, yet again. Lynn never won this kind of argument. She could never hold out. She made her thoughts clear, but she wouldn't fight for them. It was a pattern that had been repeating since Kyra had met her. It made both of their lives easier—it might have been the only reason they'd made it this far together.

For an absurd second, Kyra hated her for it. It was so _weak_.

"Absolutely," Kyra said.

_You always give in_, she thought. _Why do you always give in?_

"How do you survive it?" Lynn whispered. "Why doesn't it eat at you?"

"Survive what?" Kyra asked.

Lynn put her elbows on the desk, cradled her head in her hands. "The killing. Why doesn't it hurt you?"

_Like it hurts me_. The ending was unspoken, but Kyra heard it loud and clear.

"What do you know about killing?" Kyra asked.

Silence, for a long moment.

"It was a mistake," Lynn said finally. "A stupid mistake. So stupid."

"What was?" Kyra asked. She moved to lean against the desk.

"I was young. An idiot. But I was a good hacker. It was supposed to be a _joke_."

"_What_ was?"

Lynn looked up. "A virus. It was a virus I wrote. Called it Harlequin. It just about tore apart any system it got into. Fucked up everything. But after three days, it fixed all the damage and disappeared, like it'd never been there. A joke. I thought it was harmless."

"Take it you were wrong," Kyra said.

"When you set something like that loose, you can't control where it goes. Not really." Lynn swallowed. "It got into a hospital, Kyra."

A hospital. Three days suddenly seemed like ages.

"Fuck," Kyra muttered.

"Life support went down," Lynn said. "They didn't keep paper records, no one does anymore. No patient histories, no prescription information, no fancy tests, no surgical robots—one shorted out in the middle of a procedure, the guy bled out on the table before a real live doctor could scrub in. Poor bastard was just getting his appendix out. Three days later, twenty-seven people were dead. Couldn't fucking fix that."

An accident. A goddamn mistake, just like Lynn had said. It was nothing at all like what Kyra was doing, but she didn't know if saying that would help or hurt.

"Lynn—"

"_Don't_," Lynn snapped. "Don't you dare say it wasn't my fault. Don't you dare fuckin' _lie_ to me, Kyra."

Kyra flinched. Then she straightened, moved away from Lynn.

"Don't hack those files again," Kyra said. "I'm not worth your life, Lynn."

Maybe Lynn would argue that—maybe she would just back down. Kyra didn't wait to see which it was.

X

Miguel woke in the dark. He was seated. His arms were tied behind his back, making his shoulders ache. His legs were tied—to the legs of the chair?

"Hello?" he called. His mouth was very dry.

"Oh, you're awake?" A flashlight flicked on, shone in his face.

"Where am I?" he asked, squinting.

"Used to be a whorehouse," the voice said. "Now it's just an empty building. You thirsty? Here, open your mouth."

He obeyed, praying for water. Instead a gag was stuffed between his teeth.

"Don't really give a fuck if you're thirsty," the voice—it was a woman—muttered. "I remember you," she said. "You like blood."

_Oh, fuck_, he thought, and tugged at the ropes. They didn't give.

"Guess what?" she whispered. "So do I."

X

When Kyra got back to the club on her sixteenth birthday, she did not go upstairs. She did not look to see if Lynn had gotten her a card and a pretty gift. Instead, she went looking for Demarco.

"Can we hide in your office again?" she asked him. "I'm not in the mood to be around people."

He smiled. "What am I then?"

She rolled her eyes and started to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist.

"I was kidding, angel," he said. "Why don't we go to my apartment?"

"Your apartment?" she repeated.

"You're less likely to be bothered. We can order take-out."

"Take-out." She snorted. "Sure. Why not?"

So they did. He had a very nice place. Not huge, but classy. And it was just for him—how much space did one guy need? She recognized the security system and winced, because she knew how much that model cost.

"What you wanna eat?" he asked. When she shrugged, he shook his head. "You're the birthday girl. It's your choice."

She had a sudden, vivid flash of memory. Before the Hunter Gratzner, before Jack, there had been a table, outside a restaurant. What planet was that? She couldn't remember, but it had been summer there. And the table had had a single leftover eggroll on it, as well as a few credits tip for the waitress. She'd been hungry, so she'd taken both. It'd been the first time she'd ever stolen anything.

When she'd told her father about it that evening, he'd laughed.

"Well?" Demarco asked.

"Chinese," she said.

"Chinese it is."

Demarco opened a bottle of wine—a first, for her. It was red wine, and sweet. She didn't like it much, but she drank it anyway, because she liked watching the crimson liquid catch the light as she brought it to her lips. The food was pretty good. Demarco showed her how to use chopsticks, and she fumbled with them for awhile before giving up and grabbing a fork.

After dinner, he put a bottle of whiskey on the table. She opened it and sipped, savoring the smooth burn down her throat.

"I do have glasses," he said.

"Sorry," she muttered, and put the bottle down.

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "You want more wine? Or there's beer in the fridge."

"Nah," she said. "This is fine."

They sat on his couch and talked about nothing, passing the bottle back and forth.

She ended up leaning against him, with his arm around her, but the conversation kept going without a hitch until he made her laugh. Suddenly his skin was warm to the touch and his breath tickled her cheek.

They kissed. He tasted like whiskey. She pulled away, but slowly.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly.

"I was kissing you," he said.

"Why?"

A pause. He was giving it serious thought.

"I don't love you," he said, finally. "And you're sure as hell not in love with me. But you're my _friend_, Kyra."

"Okay." She blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He hesitated again, then said, "Those men… those _bastards_ hurt you."

She flinched.

"Yeah, Lynn told me what happened. They _hurt_ you, Kyra. I just… I want to show you how it's supposed to be."

As lines went, it was a pretty lame one—except, looking at him, she could see it wasn't a line. Yeah, he wanted to do her. Not make love to her, just _do_ her—there was no romance there.

But there wasn't selfishness, either. There wasn't greed. He wanted to do her, and he wanted her to enjoy it. It was strange thought. But strange in a good way. He believed that she could heal. She wasn't sure she agreed, but the idea seemed like it was worth a shot.

That might have been the alcohol talking. But then again, it might not have been.

She put her hand flat against his chest, felt the beat of his heart. She imagined taking off his shirt, undoing his pants, feeling his skin sliding against her own. Maybe some of his color would rub off on her, so she wouldn't be so deathly pale anymore.

The thought made her laugh out loud. He shot her a questioning look.

"Alright," she said. "Show me."


	25. Chapter 25

(AN) I am ashamed to admit I lost my director's cut of COR. If anyone has the dvd (and too much time on thier hands...) and could pm me the dialogue from the scenes with Shirah, I would be eternally grateful. If not... well, I guess I'll have to look harder.

Movement woke him. Demarco felt the warmth in his arms pull away, and groaned in protest.

He opened his eyes. Kyra was sitting cross-legged beside him. She stared down at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. She had no clothes on, but it didn't seem to be bothering her.

"Hey," Demarco rasped. Then he rolled over to look at the clock.

Eight-thirty. Hell.

When he glanced back at her, she hadn't moved.

"What's up?" he asked.

She blinked, then finally glanced away.

"You're a good friend," she told him.

He frowned, before realizeing what she was referring to. Then he wondered what she meant by it. Was she thanking him? Telling him she didn't expect more? Or was he reading too much into it?

She slipped off the bed. He saw her wince and put a hand to her head.

"You can stay," he said. "Sleep it off some."

She paused, staring at him again. Maybe she was picking at his words, wondering what he meant by them.

He hadn't meant anything. She just looked like she could use the extra sleep.

She shook her head. "I've got stuff to do. Thanks, though."

"Anytime," he said. Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

X

Kyra stopped by the club for a change of clothes.

Sitting on her dresser was a box, wrapped in bright colors with a shiny bow on top. Propped up beside it was an envelope with her name on it.

Something inside her relaxed a bit. Lynn had taken the time to buy her a gift.

She reminded herself that everything she had here was temporary—that when the time came (it _would_ come, eventually) she would walk away and not look back. She would leave Lynn and Demarco and Eric all behind, and they would probably be better off for it.

But for today, Lynn had gone out and bought her a gift and wrapped it all up in eye-catching paper. The time hadn't come yet. She was glad.

X

The man had seemed alright, at first. He'd stopped the street vendor from hitting Eve, and paid for the apple she'd stolen. She'd known he would want something in return, but she'd never thought it would be something like this.

He'd told her his name was Rich. Short for Richard.

It hurt. He'd said he would be gentle, but it hurt.

She watched him warily as he got up off the bed.

"I'm gonna get a drink," he said. "You want something?"

She shrugged.

"I'll bring you some water," he told her.

He left the room. She pulled the blankets higher, up to her chin.

A few minutes later he was back. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her.

Then he jerked. His mouth dropped open. His eyes widened.

There was a woman behind him. He fell forward. Blood _gushed_ out of him. It was all over the woman, all _over_ her, and she held a knife that was painted red. For a second all Eve could think of was the apple that had brought her here. Then she saw that Rich was dead.

The woman was frozen, staring at Eve.

The woman had just killed Rich.

Eve screamed. The killer turned and ran.

X

Kyra was starting to run out of hot water. Eric would bitch at her for using it all. She didn't really care at the moment, though.

She should have been feeling great. Her list was one name shorter. But that girl—

She stopped the thought there. Tried to.

That girl—

No.

She thought of the man instead. Richard Kavlove. The knife had slid so smooth into his back, and then the blood had just _flooded_ out of him. So easy.

"_The sweet spot…"_ whispered a memory.

The sweet spot. Why the hell hadn't she thought of that until now? She'd been trying for years to block those memories, but she never thought she'd succeed—not to this degree. She'd killed a man who shared his name, using the method he'd described, and she hadn't thought of him once.

Seeing the girl must have thrown her even more than she'd thought.

No. Forget the girl.

The sweet spot. Just to the left of the spine. The forth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta.

She'd found it. Without a moment's hesitation, she'd found it and slammed the blade home. But she hadn't thought of him. Why?

She thought of him now. She thought of his eyes and his strength and the way he moved when he killed. She wondered if she moved in a similar way, wished she could watch herself and find out. She kind of hoped she did, even if the idea made her a feel bit sick. She thought of his broad shoulders, and the bullet that had pierced one of them. She remembered his chest, hard and scarred and perfect. She remembered asking for the stories that matched the marks on his body, and being blown off every time. And why hadn't he had those removed, anyway? She hadn't thought to ask, back then.

Kyra herself didn't have a single scar on her body—it was ridiculously easy to find a clinic that didn't ask questions. It was safer—less identifying marks. So why hadn't he?

She wondered if he'd had it done by now. She wondered where he was. She hadn't wondered that in a long, long time.

He was real. He was flesh and blood. He _existed_. Somehow she'd forgotten that, in the process of trying to forget him. He wasn't a fucking idea, everywhere and nowhere all at once. No, he was out there somewhere, and he only occupied one spot in the entire verse. Not even that, for all she knew—he could easily be dead and rotting by now. And if he wasn't, eventually he would be, because he was a sack of meat and nothing more, like everyone else. Just blood and meat and skin and bone.

For a wild moment, she thought of abandoning her list and going after him. If the fucker had to die, then she should be there.

Shot or stabbed or torn apart by monsters. There would be blood—there had to be blood, for _him_. There would be blood, and it would be boiling hot and beautiful, dazzling crimson, and it would smell like death and taste like freedom. And it would hurt.

But she was used to pain. And maybe she was wrong, maybe his blood wouldn't be any different from anyone else's. She'd seen so much blood, and it was always the same.

Blood on her mother's hands, when one of her rings split Audrey's lip. Blood on her father's shirt, when he'd told her to pack her things. Blood in the grave, baking under the suns. Her own blood on her fingers, licked clean in near-darkness. Blood pooling as she clutched a smoking gun, and Riddick's heart kept beating. Blood in her dreams, night after night. Blood on Litner's dick.

Kyra shivered, told herself it was because of the cooling water.

Blood on sheets and scalpels.

Blood in a bag, saving her life. Drip, drip, drip.

Blood all over the gym floor, the time Eric broke her nose.

Blood soaking an old couch, as she squeezed the trigger one more time and realized the gun was empty. Blood in her hair. Blood in a former brothel. Blood all over her, earlier tonight.

Blood between that little girl's legs?

Kyra's eyes stung. She looked down, saw rust swirling through the drain.

Blood between _her_ legs.

That wasn't right, was it? No one had touched her in years. She was strong now. She could stop them.

Her stomach rolled.

She'd been behind the man, hadn't she? She hadn't been in the bed. That was right, wasn't it? She hadn't been in the bed.

Pain. There had been pain. Which side of it had she been on?

She took a deep breath, swallowed back a gag. She'd been the killer, not the victim. She wasn't weak, she wasn't fucking helpless. She was the monster, not the meal. She wasn't that girl, not anymore. She wasn't, dammit.

Was she?

X

He found her sprawled, naked, on his bathroom floor, with her head resting on the toilet seat and blood flowing from her cunt. He could smell the vomit from the door. Eric felt a jolt, felt something twist in his gut.

He turned off the shower and then crouched beside her. Drew wet hair back from her face, saw that her eyes were red and swollen. Another twist. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be a father, wondered if Dr. Frankenstein had ever ached for his monster's tears.

There was a hair tie on the counter next to her clothes. Eric grabbed it and pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail. Then he got up and left.

Her bag was on the kitchen table—he rooted through it, found a tampon. He got a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

She hadn't moved.

"Rinse your mouth," he commanded, and held the water to her lips.

She took a gulp, swished it around a bit, and spit in the toilet.

"Good girl," he said. "Here."

He held out the tampon. After a moment, she took it.

"Get yourself cleaned up," he told her. He waited until she nodded, then stood. This time, he shut the door behind him.

It took her ten minutes. Ten long minutes. When she emerged, he was lounging on the couch with his latest gun magazine, very carefully unconcerned.

"Sorry about that," she said softly.

He just shrugged.

Her skin was very pale, bleached like old bone. Her eyes blazed. The sweatshirt she wore—one of his—hung off her shoulders, made her look frail. A sharp reminder of the night he'd met her. He remembered thinking she was pretty—but really, she'd been nothing but skin and bones and harsh eyes.

She was more than that now. Most of the time. It irritated him, seeing her look like this again.

She sat on the couch, by his feet.

"You shouldn't put your boots on the furniture," she said.

He snorted.

"Yeah, well, you're not the one who has to deal with the stains," she responded.

He slid further down, put his feet in her lap. She winced.

"You hurt yourself?" he asked, lifting his feet.

"Landed on my hip," Kyra replied. She drew his boots back into her lap, started untying the laces. "Bruised it pretty bad."

"What happened?" he asked. "Problem with the hit?"

"No, the hit went fine," she said evenly. "Just felt sick. I think maybe I'm coming down with something."

She pulled his right boot off his foot and set it on the floor.

"Bullshit," Eric said.

She removed his other boot, tugging a little harder than she had to.

"Why you say that?" she asked.

"You're my protégé, Kyra. A little nausea isn't enough to make you cry. Or it better not be."

She gave him a small smile. "You got a point. But it's not the kind of thing talking will help. I… I lost control, for a minute."

He knew there was more to it than that. Kyra didn't 'lose control' without something to trigger it.

"Not good, Kyra," was all he said.

"It was just a minute," she replied. Her head fell back, baring the line of her throat. It made him think of pagan sacrifice, of virgins led to slaughter. Strange thoughts.

"Sometimes a minute is enough," he said.

"I know," she answered. "Hasn't happened in a long time, though. I've gotten better."

"Yeah, you've gotten better," he conceded, once again thinking of the wraith she'd been.

Her eyes closed.

"You're a good influence on me," she whispered.

_No, I'm not,_ he thought. His lips curved a bit as he remembered all the people he'd sent her to kill. _I'm really, really not. But I am a steadying influence. And that's what you're really looking for, isn't it? That's what you really need._

"Glad you think so," he said. Then he went back to his magazine.

X

Eric was _concerned_ about her. It was really starting to get on her nerves.

"I'd be gone almost a month," he told her. "You really think that's a good idea? After that freak-out last week? I can reschedule."

She rolled her eyes. "There will not be a repeat of that 'freak-out'. You need to stop _fussing_ over me and do your goddamn job."

"Something's off," he said. "You think I can't tell?"

Kyra thought of the case files Lynn had hacked, and the child who had witnessed a murder.

"Nothing's off," she lied. "This is stupid. You said he'd be dead within three weeks. That needs to happen. Clients need to know you're reliable, or they'll go somewhere else. It's business. You know that, Eric, you're the one who taught me."

He eyed her—she gave him an exasperated look.

"Nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Fine," he said abruptly. "I'll see you when I get home."

X

Riddick studied the clouds beginning to churn above him. Then he looked down, at the tracks in the snow. He pulled out a blade.

He needed the meat, but he'd have to hurry. He had to get to shelter before the storm hit.

X

Two hands slammed down, one after the other.

"Mine!" Kyra cried, scooping up the cards. She shook her hand. "Damn, that stung."

"Stop whining and play," Lynn told her.

There was a knock at the door. Kyra didn't move. After a moment, Lynn sighed and got to her feet.

"Ignore it," Kyra said. "If it's important they'll come back later."

"If it's important we should deal with it now," Lynn replied.

There were two men at the door. One was in uniform.

"I'm Detective Rider," the other said, holding up a badge. "This is Officer Malone. We're looking for Kyra Moloch."


	26. Chapter 26

Eric glared at the reporter on-screen, with her somber tone and her fucking stylish hair. The words coming out of her mouth—horrific, shocking, tragic—were not ones he would have used to describe Kyra, but they were probably fairly accurate.

She'd known, dammit. She'd known they were closing in on her. That was obvious now.

When he'd first started teaching her, he'd told her that if she was stupid enough to get herself caught, he wouldn't help her. She couldn't think that was still true, could she? Things had changed. She was his, now. His student, his friend, the only person in the fucking verse who would remember him with a smile when he was gone.

He'd known something was off before he left, but she had insisted everything was fine. She had said go, and he had gone. Wasn't it obvious that he cared? He had trusted her word over his gut. Didn't she know he wouldn't do that with anyone else?

His comm beeped, but he ignored it. No way was he taking a job right now. It switched over to messages, and _her_ face popped up. He lunged for it, turning up the sound.

"Hey, Eric," she was saying, a familiar, irritating smirk on her lips. "Don't bother cussing me out, this is a recording. But you're pretty smart, you probably figured that out yourself. I gave this to Lynn—hopefully awhile ago—to send to you if I'm arrested. Reason I'm doing this—and feel free to mock me if I'm wrong—is 'cause lately, you've seemed to be getting kind of… attached."

He did cuss her out then, snarling at her smugness. She paused for a moment, as if she knew what he was doing. Maybe she did.

"So," she continued after a while. "I'd like you to think back. First day, first thing you told me. Remember?"

Of course he did. First day, he'd laid down some basic, all-purpose rules. Eric frowned. He didn't like where this was going.

"You told me five rules to live by. This message is to remind you of those rules. First," she held up a finger to illustrate, "Always have a plan, but be ready to improvise. Second: never take unnecessary risks. Third: keep it simple. Forth: be thorough—sloppy gets you killed. And, most important: we are not heroes. Look to thine own ass first, Teach."

She paused, flipping a stray curl over her shoulder.

"You're probably wondering why I'm telling you these. After all, you taught them to me. You could recite them in your sleep. But maybe you could use a refresher on their practical application. You know what I am to you now? I am an unnecessary risk. I am a complication. I don't know the exact circumstances; maybe I'm wrong. But odds are, coming after me will be breaking your own rules. Don't, Eric. Not for me."

The message ended. Eric stood.

_That bitch._

He went into the gym, hoping to work off the anger. There was the treadmill she'd spent so much time on.

_Worthless cunt._

He headed for the kitchen, opened the fridge. It was almost empty. He'd have to do his own shopping, now.

_Damn her._

He went into the living room and collapsed on the couch. There was no one to tell him to get his boots off the furniture.

_Damn her to hell for being right_.

X

Worry over a bright, sullen young girl had brought them together. But they had failed her.

Lajjun sighed, dried her hands, and started chopping the vegetables for dinner. The screen was on, showing the news. She could hear Ziza playing in the other room.

She still thought of Jack often, and she knew Abu did as well. She knew better than to mention her, though. For Lajjun, the lost girl was a scar on her heart. For her husband, the wound was still wide open and bleeding.

"…so many tragic, senseless deaths," the woman on the screen was saying. "Today we get our first glimpse of the woman—shockingly, hardly more than a child—allegedly responsible for these horrific crimes."

Lajjun glanced up, wondering what the reporter was going on about.

Her hand slipped—the knife bit into the base of her thumb. She hissed, grabbed a towel, and pressed it against the cut.

Then she bit her lip and looked back up.

She hadn't been mistaken.

The name was strange, but she _knew_ that face.

X

Kyra sat across from her lawyer, the best Lynn could afford for her with her questionable income. She wondered if she'd ever be able to pay the other woman back for that. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Hearing's tomorrow," the lawyer said, all business in her tailored suit. "What do you want to plea?"

Kyra shrugged.

The lawyer frowned. "I'll be honest—the odds of you getting off are miniscule. They'll give you a lighter sentence if you plead guilty."

"Guilty," Kyra repeated. "That implies remorse, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"Guilty," Kyra answered. "Feeling guilty. Means you feel bad about something."

"Maybe in everyday conversation," the lawyer replied. "Things work somewhat differently in a court of law."

"I know. That's why I need you," Kyra said. "I wouldn't get a trial, would I? If I plead guilty?"

The lawyer's face softened a bit. "No. No, you wouldn't. But you _would_ get a lighter sentence. Maybe even stay on-planet. And I wasn't kidding—the odds of a jury finding you not guilty are very, very bad."

"But there _is_ a chance."

"Not much of one," the lawyer told her.

Kyra thought of faking a seizure, remembered Fry's voice—_"So, maybe we've got enough light." _

"I've played worse odds," she said.

X

That night, Lajjun listened from her daughter's bedroom door as her husband told a new bedtime story. It was a story about a crash, an unnatural night, and the monsters of hell. It was the story of a Captain, a merc, and three lost sons. It was the story of a boy who was a girl. It was the story of the convict who left her to save her, who cared enough to break her heart.

Ziza was enthralled.

Lajjun pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to keep her tears quiet.

X

Demarco went to visit her the day before the trial started. Her hair was tangled; her gaze was cold. She didn't smile when she saw him. She looked hard and distant—like a stranger. Not the girl he'd laughed with, danced with, fucked. He wanted to hold her hand, rub her back. Touch her the way friends touched, when times were rough. Maybe that would thaw the ice in her eyes.

He actually started to reach for her before he remembered the sheet of plexiglass between them. He flicked on the intercom instead.

"Hey, angel," he said.

"You still calling me that?" she asked. "Even now?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

She blinked. "I… my lawyer told me not to talk about it."

And just like that, he knew she was guilty. He hadn't really believed it before, didn't know what to think now that he did. He wondered how many times she'd danced in his arms to celebrate a kill, or if she'd had trouble going from committing murder to joking with him. He wondered if it mattered. Maybe it just hadn't sunk in yet. Maybe it would hit him later, and make him hate her.

He remembered telling her he didn't love her. He wondered if that had been a lie.

"I don't care," he said. "I don't give a flying fuck 'bout any of this, _angel_."

Her lips curved—a small smile, but it was there. "You're the only person who's ever called me that. Probably the only one who ever will. Don'cha think there's a reason for that?"

He shrugged.

She shook her head. "Why are you here?"

"I got a secret fetish for ugly jumpsuits. You just gave me an excuse, babe."

A startled burst of laughter. "Glad I could be of service," she said, and she sounded almost like his Kyra again.

"I could return the favor," he said.

She snorted. "Jumpsuits ain't my thing."

"Don't have to be jumpsuits," he replied. "I'm open minded. C'mon, tell me your dirty, little fantasies."

He considered the things that had put her here—maybe _that_ was her fantasy. Then he pushed the thought back. Better not to know.

She rolled her eyes, looked away. "Demarco…" she started. There was a harsh tone to her voice he'd never heard before. "I never really thanked you. For anything. I should have. So… thank you."

This was her good-bye, he realized. She was saying what she wanted him to know, if they never saw each other again. Like there was no hope, like she'd already been sentenced.

He started to blow it off. The trial hadn't even started. They hadn't damned her yet. He opened his mouth to make a flippant remark, but… what if this _was_ the last time he saw her? He swallowed.

After a moment's hesitation, he changed tracks completely. "That's what friends do, Kyra," he said.

She was silent for a long time.

"Yeah," she said finally. "I guess it is."

X

Kyra's hands started to shake a bit when the girl took the stand. She put them in her lap so no one would see. The girl—Eve, Eve was her name—met Kyra's gaze for a second. Kyra flinched and looked away.

She couldn't stand the thought of looking into those eyes again. She spent the whole time the kid—_Eve_—was testifying staring at the table.

Kyra couldn't stand seeing the child, but she heard every word Eve said. And Kyra knew those words would be yet another memory no amount of blood could wash from her brain.

X

Eric sat in the booth, facing the room. He took a swig of his beer and wished for something stronger. But if he started doing shots now, he wouldn't stop, and he made it a rule to never get drunk in public. Maybe later, when he got home.

In another booth, a young couple was making out. They were sitting the same place he had been, the first time he'd seen _her_. He was kind of glad they were there, because if it had been free, he would have sat there. And if he'd sat there, he'd have been there because of her. He'd have been looking for closure, instead of a drink and music and maybe some pussy.

Closure. What bullshit. Just a word shrinks threw out to sound educated, to justify their fees. Shit happens. You got on with life. That was the way it worked.

A blonde slid onto the seat next to him.

"Eric Hansan?" she asked.

He gave her a quick once over. Not bad. Not bad at all.

"That's me," he said. "And you are?"

She engaged the booth's privacy settings. Then she slammed a fist into his face. "I'm Lynn, you _fuck_."

She hit, kicked, scratched, and somehow twisted away whenever he tried to restrain her. She didn't manage to do much damage, but damn if it wasn't irritating. And to add insult to injury, she was swearing at him the whole time.

"You _motherfucking_—"

She ripped at his hair.

"—_bastard_ son of a—"

She kneed him in the gut, but he didn't think it was intentional.

"—_whoring bitch_!"

He finally got her pinned. "The hell is this about?" he demanded. Then he blinked. "Lynn? Kyra's Lynn?"

She went limp. "Why didn't you save her?" she whispered. "Dammit, why didn't you _save_ her?"

She obviously didn't know what had been on the recording she'd sent him. He considered telling her, but she chose that moment to burst into tears. He let her go and reached for his wallet, so he could pay and leave, but something made him stop.

This was Kyra's roommate. Her friend. He should have just walked away. But he didn't.

"She's strong," he said. "I made sure of it. She can survive in there."

Lynn wiped her eyes. He wasn't sure why—she hadn't stopped crying, so it didn't do much.

"For what?" she asked.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What's she got to survive _for_, in there? Crematoria. You know what that place is like? They're sending her to hell."

"I know," he said, feeling helpless. "You need to let her go, Lynn."

She glared up at him. "I shouldn't have to. Why didn't you fucking _save her_?"

"I couldn't," he snapped. Then he took a deep breath, tried to make his voice gentle. This was Kyra's friend. "She was past saving long before I met her."

Lynn shook her head.

"Damn you," she muttered, but the venom was gone. She curled up in the seat, forehead to her knees, and sobbed.

Eric put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. A small part of him wanted to join her, to let go. A much larger part wanted to leave her there. But he couldn't stand the thought of being so vulnerable, and she was Kyra's friend. So he would stay and give her what comfort he could, and she would cry for both of them.

X

Riddick looked up at the stars, using them to guide the way through his frozen white world. For a moment, a dim one caught his eye. It was only visible for a few months of the year, and even when it was in sight he did his best to ignore it. That was Helion's sun. That was where he'd left her.

He hoped she'd stayed put. She'd be what… sixteen now? Almost seventeen? Sweet sixteen. Did Imam throw her a big party for that one? Seemed like the kind of thing he'd do. She'd be in school, hopefully. She was smart, she could do well if she wanted to, but that was a damn big 'if'. Had she adjusted—did she have friends, now? A boyfriend, maybe?

Riddick shook his head and looked down. His little girl, dating? Sneaking out at night? Would she fall in love? Let some teenage fuckface pop her cherry?

The thought pissed him off.

He put it out of his mind and got moving.

X

Halfway across the galaxy, Kyra was lowered, arms aching, into the Pit.


	27. Chapter 27

**One Year Later**

"They are an army unlike any other, crusading across the stars to a place called Underverse, their promised land—a constellation of dark, new worlds. Necromongers, they're called. And if they cannot convert you, they will kill you. Leading them, the Lord Marshal. He alone has made a pilgrimage to the gates of the Underverse, and returned a different being. Stronger. Stranger. Half alive and half… something else."

Aereon paused, gauging the Council's reactions. Their faces were calm, as always. But there—Pele leaned forward and tilted her head a fraction; Dwyvan tapped a single finger on the arm of his chair. Glaeba twisted the ring on her thumb, and Boreas crossed his legs at the ankle. To her, the slight movements were as loud as curses. When one served the Council of Elements as long as she had, one learned their tells. Aereon glanced at Ma'at, but she alone had not reacted. The Balance had no tells.

"If we are to survive," Aereon continued, "A new balance must be found. In normal times, evil would be fought by good. But in times like these, well, it should be fought by another kind of evil."

"Fight fire with fire, so to speak?" asked Pele.

"You _would_ enjoy the idea," Dwyvan murmured indulgently, glancing at the Lady Flame. Then he turned to Aereon. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"There is a prophesy, Councilor," she replied. "Involving a Furyan."

"A Furyan?" Boreas repeated. "Furya is dead."

"Yes, Councilor," she answered. "Furya is dead. But Furyans themselves are notoriously hard to kill. The odds are very good that somewhere, some are still alive. Perhaps not many. But quite possibly enough."

"How many do you calculate would be enough?" Glaeba enquired.

"One," Aereon told them. "If we can find the _right_ one, then one is all we need."

X

Toombs watched Riddick run. How the hell anyone could move so fast on fingerprint terrain, he didn't know. He was just glad he and his crew were in the skiff.

"Linin' him up for you," he told his gunner. "Port-side shot comin' up. Steady. Here we go. Steady…"

And there it was. "Take it. Take it!" What the hell was he waiting for? "Take the shot!"

X

The first two nets missed him—the first by a mile, the second by an inch. Then the third came whistling in, and one of the spikes punched a hole in his calf. Riddick staggered and went down for a second. He reached back, yanked the thing out of his leg.

_Fuckers_, he thought. _They're gonna pay for that one…_

He stood in the light, holding his shivs. Within sight, but out of range of that damn net-gun. When he was sure they'd had a good look at him, he jerked his head invitingly.

_Come and get me…_

X

"Jesus," Derek muttered. "He just ghosted two guys and I never even saw him." The back of his neck was itching—his eyes darted around, trying to look everywhere at once. "What do you think, Toombs? I mean, maybe we oughta just—"

"I think you're my new gunner," Toombs interrupted. "Grab a Gat."

Derek clenched his teeth, but did as he was told. This was not what he'd signed up for. But all that money, and now it was a two-way split…

"Stay on top of him this time," Toombs commanded.

X

"You made three mistakes."

Toombs froze. Looked up. There was Riddick. Not even close to bald, but still a true bastard, still with a _beautiful_ bounty on his head. Still dangerous, and way closer than he should've been.

"First, you took the job."

_I can still turn this around…_ Toombs thought.

"Second, you came light. A four man crew for me? Fuckin' insulting. But the worst mistake you made—"

Toombs undid his harness, lunged—and his hand met air.

"—Empty gun rack."

_Oh shit._

Next thing he knew, there was a blinding pain in his head—then Riddick dropped him, and Toombs realized he'd been slammed into the craft's low ceiling.

"What's the bounty on my head?" Riddick demanded.

"One mil," Toombs told him.

Riddick slammed a foot down, into Toombs's ankle. Toombs groaned. Then a shiv touched his knee. He froze.

"One point five."

"What slam pays one point five for a convict?"

"Private party."

The shiv slid up, slicing his pants from knee to crotch.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" Toombs shouted. "Guy, guy! Easy! Anonymous. That's what the sheet said."

"What _planet_?" bellowed Riddick.

Toombs gritted his teeth. Giving out information on employers just wasn't something you _did_—not if you wanted people to keep employing you. But under the circumstances…

"Helion Prime," he ground out.

_That_ meant something to Riddick. He took the blade off Toombs, backed away. Was that shock on the convict's face? Riddick looked away, and Toombs sprang up. The blade came back up, lightning quick, and kissed his throat.

"Whoa. Where you goin'?"

Again, Toombs froze.

"Last question," Riddick said. "And you better get this one right, merc. Whose ship is this?"

Toombs blinked. "Mine?"

X

Derek heard a yell, looked up.

_Aw, fuck…_

X

_You don't expect these mercs to have any honor, any code. But this new bounty from a holy man…_

The flash of hurt surprised him. But it was easy enough to cover it with rage, forget it had ever been there…

_A guy whose neck I saved_.

That'd been a mistake. He'd known it at the time, but had done it anyway. Stupid.

_Well, lesson learned. No such word as 'friend'_.

A bright grin, sparking eyes, short curls. He shoved the image away. No such word. Not even for her.

_Can only end bad when you let someone get too close._

After all he'd done for Abu…

_Bad for them._

Preacher was going to regret this, he'd make damn sure of it.

_So now it's back to all the brightness, and everything I hate._

Another thought slithered into his mind. He wasn't fast enough to stop it, with cryo dimming his wits.

_Wonder if she'll be there…_

X

"Act like an animal and I'm gonna slot you up like one," yelled Rybakov.

Fucker. This was his idea of creative expression.

"This one is always in trouble." That was Anatoli. "I knew it! I smell it!"

They pushed the crate against the cage, pulled up the crate's door. Did they really expect her to crawl in quietly like a good girl?

_Hell with that._

After a moment they grabbed their maces, started jabbing the handles at her through the holes of the crate. Kyra dodged them as best she could, then grabbed one of the handles and twisted. It came off in her hands, and she thrust it into the top of Rybakov's thigh. He cursed, but it didn't break the skin.

_Dammit_.

"Get in there!"

She glimpsed the barrel of a gun. For a split second, fury made her hesitate. Then survival instincts won out. She did as she was told.

They pulled the crate away, slammed the cell door, and started locking it. She kicked at it—trying to get the door open, trying to distract them, trying to appease thwarted rage.

It didn't do any of those things.

As soon as they started to walk away, she grabbed for the lock, but it was secure.

The hellhounds roared and howled, as if reflecting her own anger.

_Control it_, she thought. She felt it rising again, shook her head. _Control_.

"Can we shut the goddamn _noise_?"

Silence. Sweet silence.

_Control it_, she reminded herself. _Control it, it can make you stronger. Let it control you, and it'll make you careless._

The growls started up again.

_Control it, dammit_.


	28. Chapter 28

Riddick wasn't asleep. He couldn't sleep, but time did strange things in cryo—it stretched and twisted and spun. He looked at the chrono. Watched the days fly by. Watched the seconds crawl.

_They say most of your brain shuts down in cryosleep…_

Not that you could tell by him.

_All but the primitive side. The animal side._

His thoughts echoed. That almost made sense in cryo. Almost.

"_All but the Furyan side."_

He was still on the ship. He could still see it, feel it, smell it. But somehow, he was also somewhere else. Somewhere with thousands of graves, overgrown by tangled, thorny branches. Somewhere with a woman, who had knife strapped to her thigh and beads in her hair, who carried her head high and proud.

She walked slowly towards him.

"_Some of us still remember the true crime that happened here on Furya,"_ she told him, gesturing at broken tombstones.

"_And once you wake…" _

She put a hand to her heart.

"…_truly wake…" _

She reached out.

"…_you'll remember, too."_

Her hand touched his chest.

An alarm blared. He was alone.

"_Helion Prime is on alert condition four,"_ squawked the comm.

X

"Imam, pray for us," the woman said.

Abu clasped her hand briefly, then continued on his way. He was late coming home—but he always was, these days. He hoped Ziza was still awake when he got there. He hadn't gotten to tuck her in the night before.

He caught snatches of conversation as he walked.

"What are we gonna do now?"

"Hood of the devil, that's what someone called 'em."

"It's all nonsense."

And a lot of it _was_ nonsense, from what he could tell. But did getting the story straight really matter, when the world was going to end?

"…so tall it touches the clouds," murmured one man, in the dramatic tone of a talented storyteller.

Abu paused.

"And there's nothing around this statue," the man continued. "This colossus. Nothing left. It's their calling card."

If only that were nonsense, too. For a second, Abu could see it—that _abomination_, violating the holy city's skyline.

He thought a quick prayer and kept walking.

X

The house was warm and welcoming. From upstairs came the sound of a shower and a female voice singing quietly. Not Jack. Had to be Abu's wife.

Riddick ran a hand over his head, grimacing at the feel of the sweaty dreadlocks. Jack would bust a gut laughing if she saw him like this—assuming she recognized him at all. His jaw clenched. He didn't know how she would react, when she saw him. He was prepared for swearing or smiles, hugs or tears or fists. But to look into her eyes after five years and see nothing? He didn't like that idea. Not at all.

He'd have to do something about that.

X

She was idly tracing the tip of a blade in the dirt. The Guv couldn't tell from where he stood if it was an actual picture, or just a random design.

"Tea?" he asked.

He'd said it quietly, to keep from startling her. She didn't even glance up. Apparently she'd known he was there. He moved forward, crouched down beside her, and put one of the mugs he held on the ground by her hand.

"Thanks," she said. She picked up the cup, took a slow sip.

"Is that a burning bird?" he asked, examining her drawing.

"Yeah," she said. "But it comes back, so that's okay."

He eyed her. They all lost it, down here—some more than others—but her usual brand of crazy involved blood and cold logic. Not pictures in the dirt, not babbling about things that didn't die when they should.

She caught the look he was giving her, shook her head. "It's an old story. A legend. The phoenix burns to death, then rises from the ashes, reborn."

"Well, well," he drawled. "Don't you sound all educated and shit."

She snorted. "Yeah, I'm a regular scholar. What you want, Guv?"

"We been getting a lot of new inmates, lately," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I noticed that."

"Overheard a group of 'em talking. Bout you."

Kyra took another sip. "I see."

"You wanna watch your back, girl."

"Always do," she said flippantly.

He frowned at her.

"Relax, Guv," she said. "Just tell me who, and I'll deal with them."

"You'll deal with them," he repeated. "Alone?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't work out so well last time."

She set her cup down very deliberately and started cleaning the dirt off her blade. "We been over this. I let you help me, I let you fight my fights, suddenly I'm your bitch. Not gonna happen, Guv."

"You know I wouldn't make you do anything, right?" he asked. "You know I wouldn't ask you to fuck me? It'd just be for show."

She shook her head. "Show or not, I'm no one's bitch."

"That's a real nice thought," he snapped. "But you really think it's worth this shit?"

"I been through worse for less," she said matter-of-factly. "This ain't the worst thing in my life. Not by a long shot."

X

Abu closed the door and sighed, pathetically grateful to be home. For however much longer he had a home.

But no. Now was time to put aside fear, as best he could. Now was time to savor the precious moments Allah had given him with his family. He started up the steps, intent on finding his girls. A long kiss from Lajjun, a long hug from Ziza. That was what he needed.

"Did you know all your doors were locked?"

Abu froze, hands clutching the stair rails.


	29. Chapter 29

The holy man backed down the stairs. Slowly.

"Five years ago," Riddick said, "I took two people off that planet—a kid, Jack, who everyone else thought was a boy, and a holy man, searching for New Mecca."

Riddick saw Abu's eyes flick towards the second floor, knew the question the preacher didn't want to ask.

"Your wife…" he said, and watched Abu's breath still. "She's in the shower."

A soft exhale, slightly lowered shoulders. Relief. Riddick didn't give the other man a chance to process it. Better to play him like a yo-yo, drag his emotions across the scale and back again. Keep him off balance.

"I told one man where I might go," Riddick murmured, walking towards Imam. "I showed trust to one man."

Abu swallowed. The sound was loud in contrast with Riddick's soft tone. Riddick let a hint of a smile twist his lips.

"Did I make a mistake, Imam?"

"There is no simple answer—" Imam replied, talking too fast, too loud.

He was interrupted by Riddick's shiv. The blade didn't quite touch his throat. Imam kept calm—but then the holy man had always had a surprisingly cool head in a crisis. It was something Riddick had taken advantage of in the past. Something that kind of annoyed him now.

"Whatever was said," Imam continued, "was meant to give us a chance."

Riddick caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head back towards the stairs.

"A fighting chance. Were it not for the threat of invasion, I never would have betrayed you."

There was a girl crouched at the top of the stairs. Not _her_—way too young. Abu's girl, not his. Her hair was a mass of tight, frizzy ringlets. Her face was open and curious.

"I give you my word, Riddick."

The girl perked up. "Riddick?"

The wife walked into view, wearing a heavy robe, wrapping a towel around her wet hair. She saw him and froze. "_Riddick_?" Her tone was breathy, fearful. Not like the kid's.

"And a daughter…" Riddick said. He lowered the blade and moved towards the steps.

The girl stood, started walking down them, and the mother hurried to intercept her.

"…whose name would be?"

"If you have issue with me, let it be with me," Imam snapped. "You need not know their names."

"Ziza," the girl said, ignoring her father completely. "My name is Ziza."

"Ziza," Riddick repeated. He swung around so one hand was on the railing and the other was against the wall, and put a foot on the bottom step. He watched her for a moment. She blinked down at him. Gave a little annoyed twitch when her mother's fingers tightened on her shoulder.

He turned back to Abu. "Cute kid."

Abu just looked at him, brow furrowed. Of course. Last time Riddick had used those words, the holy man'd been out under the suns with his boys. Jack would have gotten it.

"Did you really kill monsters?" Ziza asked. "The ones that were going to hurt my father?"

Riddick raised an eyebrow.

Abu gave an uncomfortable little cough, looking resigned. "Such are our bedtime stories."

Bedtime stories? Riddick glanced at the girl again. She didn't look emotionally traumatized. Abu must have cleaned things up a bit. Maybe he'd started it as a way to remember his boys?

The wife shooed Ziza out of the room. Riddick looked down.

Maybe Jack had started it as a way to remember _him_?

He stopped that train of thought immediately. What did he care if they wanted to give the girl nightmares? There were much more important things to be considering.

"So now," he said slowly, "who do I have to kill to get this payday off my head?"

X

There were three of the bastards. Guv watched as they crept up on her, and hoped she would wake in time. He wondered what she'd been thinking, crashing here. She was usually better about finding safe places to sleep. It was a bit irritating, that she'd gotten careless right after he'd _warned_ her there were inmates gunning for her.

He considered yelling another warning, waking her—maybe they would even scatter. But no. That would be helping. He'd be involved. She'd made her thoughts on that very clear. So he watched them close in on her and did nothing. One of them reached for her tit—

She rolled into a crouch, slashed the man's throat in a spray of blood. The momentum of her swing turned her to face the next—she ducked his punch and stabbed him in the gut. He folded around her knife, collapsed on top of her. He was a big guy—when he went down, he took her with him. There was a sharp crack as something hit stone that wasn't supposed to.

The last inmate dragged her out by her ankles, then flipped her. There was a dazed look on her face—for a second, she just stared up at her attacker.

A second was enough. He was on her, knees pinning her arms, hands around her throat.

Guv considered stepping in then. A knife in the back. She'd probably get pissy—he'd just tell her that a convict's—any convict's—life meant more than an inmate's. Or hell, he didn't have to kill the guy, just distract him enough to give her back the upper hand.

But no. She'd known what could happen when she'd decided she didn't want his help.

She snapped her head forward, managed to gouge the inmate's hand with—was that a razor between her teeth?

The inmate flinched. Not much, but for an instant he was off-balance, and she seized it. Suddenly she was on top, and then there was a blade in the man's chest.

Well, alright. Now he could come forward.

She stood slowly and put a hand against the wall to brace herself.

"You alright?" Guv asked.

She wiped her hand on her pants, then reached up to touch the back of her head. "There's blood in my hair."

"There's blood all over you."

It was true. It sliced across the elegant bones of her face, like spray-paint on a cathedral. There were flecks of it on her neck and collar, smears on her torso, and her right arm—the one against the wall—was drenched nearly to the elbow.

"But I think this is mine. Cracked my head when that fucker landed on me."

"Yeah," he said. "I heard it. You went fishin' for 'em. Pretendin' to sleep."

"Yep," she said, still fingering her head. "And they took the bait."

"That was a dumbass thing to do, Moloch."

"Ooh, my last name," she mocked. "I'm in trouble now. You gonna give me detention, make me skip recess?"

She looked like some ancient goddess of war. She sounded like a bratty teenager. Damn strange mix. He wondered where she was from. If she had family. If they had loved her. What kind of people produced this girl-killer? How did a pretty teen learn to use her own body as bait and hook?

"Who were you?" he asked. "Out there?"

She shot him a confused glance. "What?"

"Who were you?" he repeated. "Before they sent you here."

"I was Kyra." She frowned. "I was Kyra Moloch. Same as now."

The point of the question had gone straight over her head. He didn't bother trying to explain.

X

"It is said the comet always precedes them—these world-enders," said the Holy Man, staring out the window. The words were soft. Maybe this was his story time voice. "The Colsack planets are gone. Eight million settlers missing."

_And?_ Riddick wondered. He wouldn't have cared about any of those people on their own, why should it be any different with all of them put together? He glanced toward the hall, saw Ziza hiding behind the screen.

"The entire Aquilan System is gone too," Abu continued. "Helion Prime shares its sunlight with all worlds nearby. If we fall, they fall."

_Good to know. Gotta make sure I run far enough._

"And after that—my God, how do I save my family?"

Riddick watched the girl. Had she heard that? She was young enough she probably didn't know her daddy couldn't save the world. Young enough she probably shouldn't be hearing him sound all scared.

Abu turned. "Have you heard anything I've said?" he bit out.

Riddick looked at him. "You said it's all circling the drain, the whole universe, right?"

Holy Man's shoulders slumped a bit, and he nodded. "That's right."

Riddick glanced at the screen again. Little girl stuck her finger through one of the holes, wiggled it at him. He closed the door, and turned back to Abu.

"Had to end sometime."

X

"And whose throat is this?"

Aereon was impressed, though she shouldn't have been. It'd been too long since she'd seen a Furyan, talked to one. She remembered their reflexes, their strength, their intuition. But, like any people, their whole was more than the sum of their parts. She'd forgotten the intensity of the whole.

Nevertheless, her voice was perfectly level as she replied, "If you cut my throat, I'll not be able to rescind the offer that brought you here, nor tell you why it's so vital that you did come."

"The blade comes off when the bounty comes off," he told her.

"This is Aereon," said Imam al-Walid. There was urgency in his voice. "An envoy from the Elemental race. She means you no harm."

Imam put a hand on Riddick's shoulder, and Aereon used the split-second distraction to spin away from the blade.

Interesting, that the Imam had willingly touched Riddick, though she knew the preacher had felt both guilt over his actions and fear of vengeance. More interesting, that Riddick had not displayed an adverse reaction to the touch, though it was clear he knew of the betrayal. Imam had never been truly forthcoming about how, exactly, he was connected to Riddick, but clearly the bonds between the two men cut deep and held fast.

She stopped behind them. "There are very few of us who have met a Necromonger and

lived to speak of it." Imam spun to face her; Riddick did not. "So when I choose to speak of it, you should choose to listen."

The Furyan turned, deceptively slow, to face her. "Necromonger."

"It is the name that will convert or kill every last human life, unless the universe can rebalance itself."

His brow furrowed. "Maybe you should pretend like you're talkin' to someone educated in the penal system," he told her. "In fact, don't pretend."

A request for clarification, albeit given in a hostile tone. Not a bad sign.

"Balance is everything to Elementals," she said. "Water to fire. Earth to air. We have thirty-three different words for it. But now we have only time to speak of the balance of opposites."

"There is a story, Riddick," Imam cut in. "Of young male Furyans, strangled at birth—strangled with their own cords. When Aereon told this story to the Helion leaders, I told her of you."

She remembered the spark of recognition in Imam's eye. It had been the first hint of hope she had received on Helion. Then Imam had spoken, hesitantly, guiltily, and hope had blossomed.

Riddick turned away.

"What do you know of your early years?" asked one of the Helion officials.

"Do you remember your home world?" added Imam, coming far closer to the killer than the other men dared. "Do you remember where it was?"

Riddick didn't move.

"Have you met any others?"

"Others like yourself," Aereon added.

Finally, a reaction—he turned to look at her.

"Sister, they don't know what to do with just one of me."

There was a sudden pounding from below. A man's voice: "Open up in there!"

Something was wrong. Aereon faded into the air.

X

"I will send them away," Abu said quickly. "But wait one minute, please. Will you wait one minute, to save worlds?"

Riddick looked at the other man, standing there with his palms pressed together in something that looked absurdly like prayer, and felt disgust well up. He'd always walked soft with the Holy Man—for Jack's sake, just maybe for Abu's own sake. And anyway, it'd been an advantage for a preacher to think he was a friend. But this—maybe he'd been too soft. He was no world-saver, he was no knight. He only defended what was his—the rest got ignored, if it was lucky.

"Not my fight," he growled, and turned to the window.

"So, you will leave us to our fate," said Abu, with disgust of his own. "Just like you did her."

Riddick froze. Bastard might as well have clipped a collar around his fucking neck, because now he couldn't move.

_Her?_

X

Sleep. Real sleep this time. Real dreams.

_They were going to play poker. They didn't play it often, because Lynn didn't like it. Was extremely bad at it, in fact._

_Speak of the devil, Lynn was seated to Kyra's right. The bird that should have been flat and still on her back was perched on her shoulder, crying silver tears into her blonde curls. She was trying to look everywhere at once, apparently bursting with energy._

_To Kyra's left was a skeleton, dressed all in black. He was, for the most part, still and serene. When he did stir, his movements were sharp and efficient. There was a weapon leaning against the back of his chair. It was a beautiful weapon, with a long wooden handle, stained dark, and a gleaming, curved blade. Kyra wanted it so bad her hands ached. How must it feel, to swing that blade…_

"_Envy is a sin," whispered a voice behind her. She didn't turn to look. Sin had stopped worrying her a while ago now. _

_Directly across from Kyra was an old woman, dressed all in white. Her smile was loving and mocking, like a grandmother looking at a slow, silly kid._

"_Are you going to deal?" she asked._

_Kyra blinked down at the table, at the deck that was suddenly in front of her. She picked it up and shuffled quickly, then dealt for five card draw, because Lynn would refuse to play anything more complicated._

"_I don't have any money," she said as she picked up her cards._

"_We never play for money," said the old woman. They all took a moment to study their hands._

_The skeleton found a handful of sand somewhere, and poured it in the center of the table. The woman in white set a spool of thread beside it. Lynn put a hand up to the bird. It rested its head there for a moment, and where tears touched skin, they hardened. Lynn dropped them on the table._

"_Diamonds?" Kyra asked. "For dirt and thread? You really think this is fair?"_

"_My sister's spinning is priceless," the woman across from her said._

"_Trust me, Kyra," whispered Lynn._

"_Fine," Kyra said shortly. "So what do I put in?"_

_The old woman's smile grew. "Depends, my dear—are we playing Kyra or Moloch?"_

"_Kyra," Lynn cut in. Then she glanced at the woman in question. "Please say Kyra."_

_Kyra looked at her, shrugged. "Kyra."_

_The old woman smiled. "Put in your light."_

_Kyra frowned. "My—"_

A noise. Kyra's eyes snapped open. Time to move.

X

From above, the sounds of death. Abu had hoped to never hear sounds like that again.

There was a soldier in front of him, one hand holding a knife, the other clutching Abu's vest. Just a boy, really, playing with sharp toys. Abu was willing to bet the child had never heard anything like this before.

The sounds stopped, and the boy's hands started shaking. Riddick appeared on the landing, sans goggles. The convict turned that cold silver gaze on the boy. Barely a second passed before he was backing away, dropping the blade. When he was gone, those eyes turned on Abu.

Abu didn't shake. He'd done this before.

"You mentioned her," Riddick said.

Abu nodded. "She, uhh—" he swallowed back a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with fear. "She went looking for you. People died. She went to prison." Ridiculously oversimplified. But he couldn't bring himself to explain any better to the man who hadn't been there. "I—I don't remember where." Hadn't let himself remember. Had worked very hard to forget. "But it was a world… so hot, you could not survive on the surface."

"Crematoria," Riddick said softly.

Something about the speed with which Riddick recognized it, the ease with which he said the name, made Abu furious. This wasn't some stranger they were talking about, not like before, this was no faceless mass, this was—

"Young Jack," he bit out, nearly choking on the words. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked about her like this, like a real person instead of the hero of some fantasy. He wondered if Riddick had said her name at all in the past five years.

Abu's fists clenched. He realized that he wanted Riddick to pay. Because Jack had gone looking for him, and he hadn't been there to find, and in Abu's eyes, that was the worst crime this man had ever committed.

"She thought of you as her older brother," he said, because words were the only weapons he knew how to use. "She worshiped you."

"You were supposed to watch her," Riddick snapped, walking down the stairs.

"She never forgave you," Abu snarled, and watched with satisfaction as Riddick faltered. "For leaving. Just when she needed you most."

"She needed to stay away from me," Riddick said softly. Then, harder, "You all do."

The convict headed out the door.

Ziza broke out of her mother's hold. "Riddick!"

Riddick paused, turned to look at her.

"Are you gonna stop the new monsters now?"

Abu closed his eyes. Her tone was so innocent. So trusting. A sudden flash of memory—Jack's exuberant voice as that stone rolled back to reveal their savior. He should never have told Ziza Riddick's name, should never have brought him here. Should have learned from Jack, and from those long ago words—

"_How much faith do you have left, Father?"_

He should have done something, anything, other than set Riddick up to disappoint another child Abu loved.


	30. Chapter 30

(AN) Happy New Years, guys. Sorry about the wait.

Lajjun looked at the sky and saw light. Not the familiar, peaceful beams that were Helion Prime's main contribution to the system, but quick bursts, bright flashes. For just a second, she thought they were beautiful—then Abu gripped her shoulder, and she remembered what they meant. She spun towards the house. She'd pack up some valuables, some food, Ziza's blankie…

"No, no," Abu said, catching her wrist. He bent down, picked up their daughter. "We go to the shelter," he said. "We take only ourselves."

She hesitated, thinking of all the things she didn't want to leave behind. Then she met her husband's eyes. _Ourselves. That's all that matters now_. She nodded.

X

People pressed in on them from all directions. There were shrieks and whimpers and yelling and she heard people say bad words. Lights flashed, went dark. Ziza clutched her father's neck and pressed her face into his shoulder. Her baba told her to pray when she was scared, so she tried, but she couldn't remember all the right words. She hoped Allah understood.

X

Altair laughed. Adrenaline sizzled through him. The enemy fighter crashed below him, and he pulled out of his dive.

They wanted to invade Helion, huh? Bright damn idea. They'd picked the wrong fucking system. They'd show these bastards, they'd—

X

Something grabbed Abu's shoulder and yanked him backwards. He was pushed against a wall.

_Cover_, he realized, at the same moment he recognized the man who'd put him there.

"You followin' me?"

Abu stared at the back of Riddick's head. Following him? _Following_ him?

That was _not_ funny.

Where were Lajjun and Ziza? He didn't know if they'd made it to cover before the shooting starting, and now all he could see was the flash of gunfire. Abu muttered a quick prayer. Where were they?

The shooting stopped. Had his girls gotten to safety? Abu said their names—another type of prayer—and went to look for them. A hard hand caught his wrist.

"When it's over," said Riddick.

"Let me go," Abu snapped. "I must find my family!"

"When it's over," Riddick repeated. Abu wanted to yell, to fight, to rage at him, but he remembered that slight growl in the other man's voice. A warning. Something important. So Abu waited.

Silence. Silence. Then—

An explosion.

Abu closed his eyes and held his breath as dust and debris swirled around him. When he looked again, Riddick was peering out at the street.

"I borrowed a ship," Riddick said. "You can ride along, if you don't mind riding with a convict."

'_If you don't mind riding with a convict?'_ Abu repeated to himself, insulted. _'If you don't mind…'_

He thought of the skiff they'd escaped in together, of what Riddick had said then—_'Tell 'em_ _Riddick's dead'_—and how the _convict_ had smiled at Jack when he said it…

Jack. Jack had gone looking for Riddick. Jack was a convict now.

"I thank you," Abu said shortly. "But I must get my family across the river. God willing, there is still a shelter I can get them—"

"I'm sure God has his tricks," Riddick interrupted. "But getting out of places no one else can—that's one of mine."

Abu stared at him.

"Let's get your family," said Riddick.

X

Lord Vaako held the Helion soldier up by his collar and shot him. Last one—this area was clear. He glanced back at his men. They were good men. Only a few had fallen here.

He moved forward, and they followed. For a second, he heard a strange echo. A song, a shard of someone else's life, a foreign, half-remembered refrain—

"_Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war…"_

Then it was gone. The Necromonger marched on.

X

Riddick stopped and held up a hand. Lajjun hesitated. Did that mean 'hide', or did he just want them to stop?

"In here," Abu whispered. He herded her and Ziza into an alley. "Get in."

He held out an arm, pressing them against the wall. Lajjun stroked her daughter's hair and tried to breathe silently. Riddick had disappeared, just melted into the night. Maybe he'd never really been there?

Stupid thought. Of course he had been.

She heard footsteps.

Lajjun's heart raced. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down.

More footsteps. Closer.

_Think of something else_.

An image popped into her head. Jack. Ziza had asked what she'd looked like, and Abu'd given her a picture. She'd taped it to the wall above her bed. It'd been a good picture. Jack had been relaxed and bright and laughing, with torn clothes and dirt on her face and a pair of goggles dangling from her fist. Lajjun had never seen her look like that in real life. And now they'd probably never see the picture again.

The footsteps stopped. A gunshot.

_Oh god, please, oh god…_

Ziza whimpered, and Lajjun realized she was clutching at her daughter's hair.

_Think of something else._

The first time she'd made love to Abu had been all about romance. Candles and flower petals and soft music, all the clichés she'd never had time for before him. He'd made her feel beautiful and adored. He'd made her forget all her troubles. Then, later that night, he'd woken both of them with his nightmares, and she hadn't been able to return the favor.

"_She wore the most ridiculous dress,"_ he'd whispered. _"It's so strange, the things you think while people are dying."_

She'd asked what was wrong, she'd tried to help. It'd been like she wasn't there. He'd left the bed and gotten out his beads. Then he'd sat by the window and prayed until the sun rose.

A yell, cut off by another gunshot.

"…_so strange, the things you think…"_

Abu grabbed her shoulder, dragged her and Ziza to the other side of the alley.

_Oh, lord, he was right, he was so right…_

He stepped away from the wall.

_He—Allah, what is he doing?_

"Abu," she whispered. Her voice trembled as badly as the rest of her.

He held a finger to his lips. "Don't follow me."

_What?_

He shouted and darted away. Running footsteps now. They were chasing him. That was what he'd meant. The idiot was leading the monsters away from them.

_Run, Abu_, Lajjun thought. Her throat felt tight, and she was breathing too fast. _Don't let them catch you. Don't you die for us. Don't you dare._

X

The chase dead ended at a gate. Irgun took in the scene quickly. The man was nowhere in sight, and the only way to go was up. Irgun heaved his axe up to the next floor, where it stuck in the wall. Then he grabbed the first rung of the ladder and climbed after it.

X

"_I'm dreaming," Kyra said._

"_Really?" he responded. "How do you know?"_

"_Because I'm in the dark and you're in the light," she said. "Light and dark destroy each other. They don't mix. Except in dreams."_

"_There's more to the verse than that," he told her. "The verse has color."_

_She shrugged. "You can't see color in the dark, Abu." _

X

There was nowhere left to run. He could hear one of the Necros coming closer. Soon hiding wouldn't be an option, either. Abu took a deep breath. He bent down, picked up a broken piece of pipe. A strange sort of peace settled over him, and he stepped out of the shadows.

There stood the invader, covered with battle scarred armor.

"There will be an afterlife for me," Abu said as he approached the warrior. He thought of Lajjun, Ziza, and Jack. He thought of Ali, Hassan, and Suleiman. He smiled.

"Will there be for you?"

X

"_You should have stayed."_

_She frowned. "I couldn't stay."_

"_Maybe," Abu replied. "But you should have."_

_She looked away. They were in a bare white room. The only color was the brown leather couch. She blinked. It was the same couch where she and Demarco had celebrated her birthday._

"_I love you," Abu said. "Like my own blood. I love you."_

_Kyra sat on the couch. There was a copy of 'Guns and Ammo' on the arm, and a bit of dirt on the seat beside her. She brushed it onto the floor and picked up the magazine._

"_Say something," Abu said._

_A piece of paper slipped from between the pages of the magazine. She caught it. It was a list of names, written in rust colored ink._

"_It hurts to burn," she said. "I couldn't control it."_

_Abu sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I understand."_

_One of the names caught her eye._

'_Jack B. Badd'._

_Kyra shook her head. "I don't."_


	31. Chapter 31

She looked at the destruction below, at the soldiers marching on conquered soil. There was beauty there, of a sort. The Lord Marshal started down the steps and she followed, like all the other good little minions. Her husband was waiting a few steps below her. She reached his side and paused.

"Never fails to inspire, does it?" she said. Her voice was just a little breathier than normal. "Each time a dynasty falls."

X

"Look around you," commanded his Lord. "Every Necromonger in this hall, every one of the legion vast that just swept aside your defenses in one night, was once like you."

The Purifier looked around the hall, taking in the angry, fearful murmuring, the looks of shock and defiance. It wasn't getting through to them.

"…fought as feebly as you," continued the Lord Marshal. "Every Necromonger that lives today is a convert."

"There'll be no conversions!" someone called.

Time for him to step in again.

"We all began as something else," the Purifier said, gesturing at the ranks of soldiers behind him. "It was hard for me to accept, too, when I first heard those words." He knew that was true, even if he couldn't quite remember why. "But I changed. I let them take away my pain."

"You betrayed your faith!"

"Just as you will change when you realize that the Threshold to the Underverse will be crossed only by those who have embraced the Necromonger faith. For those of you who will right now drop to your knees and ask to be purified—"

"We will not renounce our faith!" came the same interrupting voice. A few voices echoed him.

Then, stronger, came the words, "No one here will do what you ask."

This time the Purifier could see who was speaking. It was a thin man with curly blond hair and blood on his face. He was making himself easy to spot, moving out into the aisle.

"It is unthinkable! This is a world of many peoples, many religions!"

The Lord Marshal came up behind the Purifier. The Purifier stepped back, knowing what was coming. He had hoped the example wouldn't be necessary today.

X

One fool didn't kneel. Vaako strode over to him.

"This is your one chance," Vaako said. "Take the Lord Marshal's offer and bow."

"I bow to no man," said the breeder.

One of those types, eh? Vaako took off his helmet. "He's not a man. He's the holy Half-Dead who had seen the Underverse."

"Look I'm not with everyone here," said the other man. "But I will take a piece of him."

Vaako followed the man's pointing finger. Irgun? Vaako did his best to wipe the smirk off his face before turning back to the breeder.

"A piece you will have."

X

The Purifier watched as the Lord Vaako stepped back and Irgun moved forward. Irgun of the blade, a highly thought of warrior. The Purifier had never seen him fight outside of the training ring before.

Irgun swung his battle axes. The breeder leaned back just barely far enough, and his cloak billowed off his shoulders.

Dodge, lunge, swing, sway. Violent poetry.

_I see you, brother,_ thought the Purifier.

The breeder grabbed the blade from Irgun's back and stabbed the warrior once, twice, three times in the chest. Irgun fell.

_Brother?_ wondered the Purifier.

X

"Stop him!" called Zhylaw.

He strode toward the breeder who had killed his solider, pausing only to pull the blade from the corpse. The breeder stopped, waiting for him.

"Irgun," Zhylaw said. "One of my best."

"If you say so," replied the breeder.

Zhylaw's spine tingled. The scars on his neck itched. He held up the knife. "What do you think of this blade?"

The breeder grabbed the blade in question. He seemed to turn his complete attention on it, flipping and spinning it one-handed. Finally he held it up, hilt first, and looked at Zhylaw.

"I think it's a half-gram heavy on the back end."

"In our faith," said Zhylaw with a smile, "You keep what you kill."

He wrapped his hand around the breeder's fist and squeezed. He hadn't meant the make it into a pissing contest, but when he looked at the other man his gauntleted hand clenched harder than he'd intended.

"Are you familiar to me?" Zhylaw asked slowly. He studied the other man, noted the stubble on his jaw and the sweat on his brow.

_I know this man_, he thought.

If only he could see the breeder's eyes. Zhylaw was sure it would come to him, if he could just see those eyes.

_I know this soul._

"Have we met on some distant field?"

The breeder yanked the knife away, and the feeling broke.

"You'd think I'd remember," said the other man.

Zhylaw smirked. "You'd think I would, too." But he didn't have to remember—there were other ways to get to the truth of this. "Take him before the Quasi-Deads."

X

Blind and deaf, they or it floated in the sacred Darkness. One and many, they did not think. A mosaic of lives, it did not live. But they were, and it was.

_Feel. Feel it now. Sweet dusky realm, of ebony and pomegranate . Feel it. Still realm, land of the cypress, land of gold. Feel it._

"There, now—that is just perfect."

_Not too far. He calls. Release, return. Glory will come—now deal with the brightness, the pulsing filth. Now do as He wills._

"The more you resist them, the greater the damage will be."

_Strange waves, unfamiliar patterns. Unknown. Untouched. A new one…You've brought us a new one._

_Making entry. This won't take long._

_Virgin mind, almost undefended. A few sharp edges, easily avoided. There, right there._

_We've entered his neocortex. Who…ahh. The Riddick._

**Regress. **

_Scanning fresh memories…_

_A slender column cupped in my hand, delicate spine safe in my palm, pulse fluttering lightly against my fingers. "Riddick!" Not her, you fucking monster, you can't have her. "…__**ever**__ fuckin' __**lie**__ to me." Never lied, Jackie, here I am, so where the hell are you? "She went to prison." A cage. A cage. My sunny, green-eyed girl, locked in the dark. Little bitch. Not her. Not her._

…_Thoughts of someone called 'Jack'._

_Get out you goddamn motherfuckers!_

_No._

_Bitch was right, they're fucking crazy. "…you should choose to listen." Calm eyes, even with a blade kissing her throat. And no damn wonder, when she can disappear with the wind, like a dream. Stop! _

_Now we find thoughts of an Elemental._

_Get out get out get out get out get out._

"…_spread of Necromongers."_

_Abu, what the fuck are you trying to sign me up for?_

_Furyans._

**Where does he come from? Who are his people? These are the things I need to know.**

_I'll kill you fucking cunts, I'll cut your fucking hearts out!_

_Deeper. Light. Burning. A woman's hand._

_We find energy…_

_Stopstopstopstopstop._

_You must settle your past._

_He's too bright._

_We find Furyan energy…_

_For all of us…_

_Too much light._

_He's Furyan!_

_Flames and shadows, burning, burning._

_Furyan!_

_I'll kill you all._

_A Furyan survivor!_

_Look at our world, at the graves of those— _

_The light was blocked. The Warm One clutched me close._

—_that didn't escape thirty years ago._

_I always escape…_

_There is no future until we settle our past._

_The warmth spilled out of her._

_For all of us who bear the mark…_

_He'll burn away the Dark. Stop him, end him. He's pulsing, pulsing, alive. Kill the Furyan! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick! Kill the Riddick!_

**Kill the Riddick.**

X

The Purifier deactivated the gravity field holding the Riddick captive. Then he stared at his hand on the controls, wondering what in the 'verse had made him do it.

X

Riddick's head pounded, and a line of fire licked down his spine to the middle of his back. He got up anyway. Grabbed the knife, grabbed a gun. Fought. Ran, when he got the chance. And all the while, that pulsing agony, like something inside him had been torn open.

X

The rocket launchers worked wonders. For a minute Toombs thought they might've taken Riddick out along with the creepy fucks chasing him, but the con somehow managed to stay out of harm's way, as usual.

"Let me guess, a five-man crew this time."

"Couple of things you could have done better," Toombs replied. He was enjoying this maybe a bit too much, but god it felt good to burn this bastard. "First, trash the locator beacon inside my ship—the one you jacked. And second—and this is really the more important part—dust my dick when you get the chance. Any questions?"

X

For the first time in a very long time, the Purifier dreamed.

_Her hair, unbound, was a white gold waterfall that brushed her hips. She ran her comb through it, and he remembered tying knots in it while she slept, revenge for the frog she'd hidden in his bed. She set the brush down and started to braid the long strands, and he thought of how she'd looked when, at five years old, she'd hacked all her hair off to "be like brother"._

_She glanced at him. "What are you smirking at?"_

_His lips curved farther. "Nothing at all. Just planning my speech for the wedding."_

_Her eyes narrowed. "Are you going to embarrass me?"_

"_Would I do that?" he asked._

"_You've done far worse than that," she replied._

"_What?"_

_She started humming. After a moment, he recognized a lullaby their mother had once sung to them. She turned her back on him, still braiding, and he saw the blood._


	32. Chapter 32

_It took him a second to figure out where he was. When he did, he reached for a shiv and fingered the cool metal briefly. It was calming. There was a familiar figure in front of him. He came up close behind her without her noticing. She was hunched over, peering at the solar model that had clued them in five years ago. Sweat glued her short hair to her scalp. She smelled like dust._

"_Carolyn," he greeted her._

_She jumped, then turned. "Oh," she said. "It's you."_

"_Yeah." He reached around her and spun one of the little plastic planets on its axis. "Whatcha doin' with this?"_

"_Watching the eclipse," she said. _

"_The eclipse is over," he told her._

"_Is it?"_

_He looked at the model again, and it looked different. Was that the Helion System? He looked closer. He saw cities burning, children dying, thousands at a time dropping to their knees. He saw heavenly pillars of light crumble into darkness._

"_But you don't care about all this," she said, and she was right. "What are you doing here?"_

_What was he doing here?_

_**She never forgave you**__. _

_He vaguely remembered that Abu had said those words, but he was gone. No one was saying them now—they just were. Riddick's hands tightened into fists. There was a little smirk on Fry's face._

"_I shoulda known," she said. Her voice rose, and she chanted, "Yes, her eyes are very bright, but, alas they're minus sight. She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother."_

_Riddick frowned. "Her mother's dead."_

_Fry rolled her eyes. "Well? C'mon, then Billy-boy." She hummed under her breath as she led him outside. _

"_Why'd you call me that?" he asked._

_The other planet loomed on the horizon. The light was going fast. Fry didn't seem to care, or even notice._

"_Why not?" she answered. _

_Carolyn led him into one of the buildings. Looked like it had been someone's home, once. From behind a door came a deep, gravelly voice. Singing._

"_You make me happy, when skies are grey…"_

_Carolyn knocked on the door, then opened it just enough to stick her head in. "Someone to see your girl," she said._

_A pause. "C'mon in, then," said that harsh voice._

_Carolyn pushed the door the rest of the way open, and Riddick followed her into the room. Jack was there, sprawled on a large, cobweb covered bed. There was a man seated at the head of the bed. She lay half in his lap._

_Not a man. A skeleton. _

_Jack looked up at him and smiled. "Riddick. Been awhile. What're you doing here?"_

"_Looking for you," he said. "I missed you."_

_Her smile grew, and she sat up. "I missed you too, big bad."_

"_Who's this?" Riddick asked, looking at the thing behind her._

_She giggled. "Who's he look like?"_

_The skeleton leaned down, pressed his jaw to her forehead. It might have been a kiss. "I'll leave you two to talk," he said._

"_You sure you don't mind?" Jack asked._

"_Nah," the skeleton said. "I've got work to do, anyway. And I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on. Carolyn will help me out, since you're busy. Won't you, Carolyn?"_

_Riddick glanced at the blonde. She was frowning. "You're not my master," she said._

"_Of course not. You're just doing a few friends a favor. Come, my dear pilot."_

_The skeleton took Fry's arm, and they were gone. Riddick turned back to Jack. She'd flopped back down on the bed and was staring up at him, a soft, sweet look on her face._

"_We used to argue, remember?" she said. "All the time. About the stupidest things—never about anything important. We could go on for ages and get off topic and switch sides right in the middle, and we'd never miss a beat. Drove Abu crazy."_

"_I remember," he said._

"_When we got bored, we'd ask what Abu thought. Sometimes that would be the end of it—sometimes what he said would spark off a whole 'nother round."_

"_That… guy," Riddick said. "He treat you right?"_

_She blushed, looked down. "Better than you did."_

_His jaw clenched. She looked up._

"_Don't be jealous," she said. "You're the only one I ever liked arguing with."_

_He frowned. "Jack—"_

X

He woke to the sound of a harness releasing. His head still ached, but it was quieter now, barely registered. Riddick opened his eyes, hidden behind his goggles, but kept the rest of his body still. It was the woman, the merc-bitch. She was breathing hard. Riddick closed his eyes again and listened as she came closer.

He felt the heat of her body as she leaned over him. She smelled of sweat and… yeah, she'd been having better dreams than he had. Riddick wondered idly who she'd been dreaming about, and if he'd been chained up, too.

She hesitated there for a moment, then slid his goggles up onto his forehead.

He opened his eyes. She wrenched back, and he snapped his thighs together, catching one of hers in between. The light was just right—not too bright, not too dark—for him to catch a bit of color. Her hair was dark, and her eyes were green. He wondered if she would actually spread her legs for him.

But she got off on chains. Maybe she got off on pain, too. Not worth the risk.

"Do you know you grind your teeth at night?" he asked.

Fear now, in those pretty green eyes. She didn't like being the one trapped.

"Sexy."

She jerked away, and he let her.

X

Toombs settled back into his seat, coming down from the adrenaline hit that was a typical landing on Crematoria.

"I think I shit myself," muttered Bud.

"Skittish, Toombs," said Riddick. Toombs didn't have to look at the con to know he was smirking. "Very skittish."

Toombs gritted his teeth and reminded himself how much dough this dickhead was going to fetch him.

X

Twenty-nine point four kilometers from the hanger to the main pit. Tunnels the whole way, and a sled if you could get it.

Riddick was still considering the logistics of it while they strung him up by his wrists. He stayed docile throughout the process—didn't even bother throwing in a wisecrack. He could tell it was making Toombs jumpy.

Riddick focused all his attention back on the present when they started lowering him. It was like being dropped into a goddamn volcano. He remembered Toombs' comment about living in hell.

The rope stopped lowering abruptly, jerked his shoulders.

He tried to listen to the discussion going on above him. Sounded like the usual—mercs and guards having a pissing contest over who got what cut.

The roped started moving again.

"I'd take the money, Toombs," Riddick called.

_You wanna get paid, you better get it now, cause I ain't sticking around any longer than it takes to find my girl and get the hell out_.

X

Fucking hell.

It couldn't be. It just was not possible. After all this time, after everything she had been through to land herself here, it could _not_ _be_. She was hallucinating, she'd finally cracked completely, because no way was Riddick playing gymnast above her head right now.

Except he'd just managed to turn himself into a human yo-yo and use the force from his momentum to break the chain connecting his wrists. She wasn't sure her subconscious could have thought that up on its own.

He landed crouched on the pit's floor, and then the inmates were on him.

X

Riddick didn't wait for them to come to him.

One—he blocked the fist the fucker threw at him and slammed an elbow into his forehead. Tossed the other man aside, heard his head slam into stone—he was out.

Two—Riddick caught him by the throat and flipped him to the ground as well.

Three was charging him from behind—

Metallic clinks. A choked off cry. He spun in time to see the man break his own neck on the chain that had appeared around it.

Riddick's glance darted up the chain. She was at the other end.

She was standing in the shadows. Riddick ripped off his goggles to get a better look at her. Curls—long now, but still, the curls. He couldn't actually see from here, but he knew her eyes were bright green. She was staring at him, he could tell that. Her body was long and lean. Her face was more arresting than it had been before, like she'd needed time to grow into her features before they could have their full impact. And oh, she had. She'd grown up beautiful, just like he'd known she would.

"There are inmates…"

She glanced away.

"…And there are convicts."

X

"A convict," Guv continued as he headed down the stairs, "Has a certain code. And he knows to show a certain respect."

He saw Kyra slip away. There must be something about this one, something very different, if she had done him a favor first thing. Guv remembered his own ongoing debate with her.

_Fighting his fights_, Guv thought. _That make him your new bitch, Moloch?_

He had to bite back a smirk as he said, "An inmate, on the other hand, pulls the pin on his fellow man. Does the guards' work for them. Brings shame—" He kicked one of the fuckers, "—to the game. So, which are you gonna be?"

"Me?" asked the other man. "I'm just passing through."

Guv watched him walk away. Yeah. Something different.

"Welcome to Crematoria," he muttered.


	33. Chapter 33

(AN) So it seems trying to make a schedule for finishing this is just about the best way to guarantee my life will go crazy and I won't have time to work on it. So I'll just say sorry for any past and future delays, and I'll do my best to get it done in a reasonable amount of time. Thanks for your patience.

"_You've forgotten me."_

"_No."_

"_Abandoned me."_

"_No."_

"_Betrayed me."_

"_Never," he whispered._

_Her eyes were translucent and shimmering as the heart of a flame. She ran a single finger down the side of his face, and he shuddered._

"_You pledged yourself to me," she said. "Body and soul, mind and blood. You pledged yourself to me. Son, you are forsworn."_

"_No." His voice cracked. "Please, no."_

"_Traitor. Forgotten. Damned." She crooned the words without malice, without mercy. "You are nameless and nothing."_

"_**No**__!"_

_Her laugh was light and sharp, shards of ice in his skin. "No? What, then? What is your name?"_

X

Riddick went looking for her. He didn't feel like searching the whole place, so he grabbed a guy by the throat, threw him against a wall, and asked where to find the girl with the chain. Seemed he'd picked an 'inmate', because the whiney bastard didn't hesitate to spill the location of her cell, her usual haunts, and was babbling about some group of assholes she'd apparently ghosted when Riddick dropped him.

He stepped into her cell and paused to look around. It was mostly bare. Dirty stone floor, unadorned bars. A single unprotected light bulb. The only sign she'd ever been there was a couple of shirts folded neatly in a corner. No food, no water, no weapons. This place might be hers, but she didn't spend much time here. Definitely didn't sleep here.

Some kind of blade, two pointed, pressed into his back. He recognized the spot it was marking and knew who was behind him.

"Should I go for the sweet spot?" she asked. "Left of the spine, forth lumbar down, the abdominal aorta? What a gusher."

He wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or scowl. He settled for pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and turning to look at her.

"How do I get eyes like that?" she asked.

The smile was winning. "You gotta kill a few people."

She scoffed. "Did that. Did a _lot_ of that." She dug the blade harder into his back.

Enough. He spun, caught her elbow, and dragged her around to slam against the bars of the cell, arms safely restrained above her head.

"…and then you gotta get sent to a slam," he continued.

"One where they tell you you'll never see daylight again?" she asked. Her eyes—green eyes—locked on his, held his, fiery. "Only there wasn't any doctor here who could shine my eyes, not even for 20 menthol Kools. Was there anything you said that was true?"

_I said I'd come back for you._

Something in him felt scorched and raw—something else was hot and sparking. He shoved his free hand between her legs, grabbed the bar behind her, and lifted. He could feel the heat of her body through her pants and the beat of her heart where his arm pressed into her throat.

"What're you gonna do, huh?" she asked. "Go for the sweet spot?"

_Bitch_.

"Remember who you're talkin' to, Jack," he said. His voice went rough on her name. He wondered if she'd noticed.

"Jack's dead," she told him, and his arm bore down harder on her neck. "She was weak." She shifted her hips, rubbing against his other arm. He glanced down. "She couldn't cut it."

He looked back up just as her leg flew out. The light shattered with a flash that blinded him. He jerked back instinctively, felt something soft and stinging brush his cheek.

When his vision cleared she was gone. He turned to the door. There she was, leaning on the railings, waiting for him to see her.

"The name's Kyra now," she told him. "And I'm a new animal." She flipped over the rail and was gone.

Riddick raised a hand to his cheek, looked at the blood on his fingers. Some kind of blade in her mouth—the softness had been her lips. She could have taken his eye. She'd kissed him instead.

_Kyra_, he thought. _Kyra_.

It burned.

X

Everything seemed shadowed. The dream world had been so bright. Here, he could barely see.

The Purifier stepped onto the bridge, walking slowly and deliberately. He thought he was awake, but he wasn't entirely sure. He could still hear her, whispering to him.

_What is your name?_

Vaako was at his side, solid, unflinching Vaako.

Vaako. A strong name, for a strong man. Why did Vaako still have a name?

"They can be quite a test, these deep runs," the Purifier murmured. "A test of our inner selves…"

X

Riddick started awake, leapt to his feet, strange images swirling through his brain. Flames and pillars, a dark silhouette…

They faded fast, leaving him with a dull ache in his head and the sticky feel of dried sweat on his skin. He remembered seeing some broken pipes used as showers, headed for them. He took off his goggles and hung them on a nearby pipe, then stepped under the water, clothes, boots and all. It smelled like sulfur, but it was hot. Maybe the only perk this place had.

He rinsed quickly, then grabbed his goggles, slipped them back on. His fingers rose to his face and lightly brushed the cut. It stung a bit, from the water.

He turned, and there she was, leaning against a rail maybe thirty feet behind him. Close enough to get a good look at him, far enough she'd have plenty of time to run if he came at her. She was holding a small knife, toying with it, idly turning it over in her hands.

Animal, she'd said. The look in her eyes reminded him of one. Wary, skittish, but curious. Hungry.

So he treated her like an animal. Kept his gaze on her, kept quiet and still. Waited.

_Here, kitty…_ he thought. He'd always been good at getting them to come to him. Getting them to like him, do things for him.

"Still here I see?"

X

"I been here eighteen years," Guv continued. "See this?"

He held his hands up a bit, twisting the ring on his finger. Kyra cocked her head at him, smiled a little, then used the distraction he had caused to disappear unnoticed. Again.

Guv wasn't sure why he was doing this, except that this fucker had Kyra killing for him within minutes of his arrival, when it had taken Guv weeks to coax her into having a real conversation. Except that Guv had spent nearly two decades dreaming of getting out, getting anywhere, and this _bastard_ talked like he could just stroll out of here whenever the hell he chose.

"I remember how gorgeous she was. Well, gorgeous in a certain light. And now, for the goddamn death of me, I cannot remember her name."

"Feeding time!" came the call. Guv's gaze didn't waver.

"We're here for the rest of our unnatural lives."

X

Kyra shoved people out of her way, fighting to run against the terrified flood. Finally, an opening. And there he was—beautiful, breathtaking monster.

He stalked towards her, snarling. She held her ground, met his gaze. Felt every breath, every heartbeat, every drop of adrenaline-laced blood surging in her veins. She lived for these moments, these flawless, shining moments, with those eyes on hers.

They charged each other. Kyra leapt up—a foot on the rail, the other braced against the wall. She held. He lunged. Last second, she darted over the rail, grabbed a rope. His jaws snapped behind her, and for just a moment his hot breath caressed her skin. Then she was spinning downwards, the friction heating the leather that guarded her palms.

_I am alive_, she thought. In these moments, it was enough.

X

Guv heard a strange sound—almost like one of the hellhounds growling, but off, somehow. He turned the corner, peering through the bars. One of the hounds was on the other side. And damned if that wasn't Kyra's new meat, lounging all casual on a rock, _petting_ the monster.

Purring. Holy fuck, that sound was a purr.

X

The horny bastard did a shoddy job patting her down. Didn't find the razor in her mouth, the blade in her hair.

He squeezed her ass, and she thought of Eric.

_Control. Control it, dammit_.

He continued down her legs, overly hasty. Sloppy. Didn't even touch her boots, though he probably wouldn't have found those anyway.

Finished, his hands went back up to her hips, then slipped around the front, under the waistband of her pants. Kyra thought of Demarco, of his stubble scratching her breast, his dark hand stroking her thigh.

_I know how it's supposed to be. This isn't it._

X

He'd waited to see what she would do, and she hadn't disappointed. It had been fun to watch her fight at first. Not so fun anymore once she was on the ground.

"I don't think she likes being touched," Riddick said. "I'd take my wounded and go. While you still can."

The guards thought he was crazy. That was alright—they'd learn fast enough. Riddick sipped his tea.

"Is there a name for this private little world of yours, huh?" asked the black guy. The three still standing closed in on him, leaving Kyra free to get to her feet. "What happens there when we don't just run away? You'll kill us? With a soup cup?"

The guards laughed.

"Tea, actually," Riddick replied.

"What's that?"

Riddick drained the last of his tea, held up the cup. "I'll kill you with my teacup." He set it on a rock at about waist height. The guards looked at each other. Kyra looked down, but Riddick saw the way her pretty lips curved, the little _I-know-something-you-don't-know_ smirk. It was adorable.

"You know the rule," muttered one of the guards to the one facing off with him. "They aren't dead if they're still on the books."

X

"Death by teacup," Kyra said. She wrenched the mangled mug from the corpse. Guv would be annoyed—they only had a limited supply of the things. No telling when or if they'd get more. "Damn. Why didn't I think of that?"

"I didn't come here to play 'Who's the better killer?'," Riddick replied, turning his back on her.

It was glaringly obvious, what he expected her to ask in response to that. Eric would have done a better job anticipating her.

"But it's my favorite game. Haven't you heard?"

Eric knew her better than Riddick did. For some reason, the thought stung.

Riddick paused, but still didn't look at her. "I heard you came looking for me."

She blinked—where the hell had he heard that?—and then she remembered the note she'd left on Abu's kitchen table, lifetimes ago. She wondered if Abu had ever learned more than what she'd told him in that hastily scrawled message.

"Is that all?" she asked. "Then you missed the good part. Hooked up with some mercs outta Lupus five." His head jerked around. He still wasn't facing her directly, but he sure as hell was looking at her now. "Said they'd take me on, teach me the trade, give me a good cut." She very deliberately set the cup back on the ledge. "They slaved me out, Riddick. Do you know what that could do to you when you're that age? When you're twelve years old—"

"I told you to stay in New Mecca." Finally, Riddick turned back to her. "_Did you not listen?_"

He tore the light out. Kyra flinched back, but glass didn't fly. He ripped off his goggles, that was all. She felt the thrill of those eyes on her, and hated it.

"I had mercs on my neck," he snarled, and she hated him. "I'll always have mercs on my neck. I spent five years on a frozen heap just to keep 'em away from you." She saw rage and pain and disgust in that molten gaze. A tiny bit of the hatred turned inward. "And you go and sign up with the same fake badges that wanted to cut you up and use you for bait."

"What are you pitching, Riddick?" she demanded. "That you cutting out was a good thing, that you had my ass covered from halfway across the universe?"

Again he gave her his back. Arrogance or trust, she didn't know which it was, but either way it grated on her nerves. How could anyone that damn cocky have survived this long? How could he trust her when he'd done such a spectacular fucking job betraying her trust?

"You signed with mercs," he muttered, and he had the goddamn nerve to sound sad, to sound betrayed and fucking wounded. What right did he have to sound like that? This was Riddick. He'd promised to fight off her nightmares, then left her to be consumed by them.

Somewhere out there was Eric, who'd sworn he wouldn't save her, then had to be manipulated into deserting her. God, she missed him. Damn him. Damn him and Riddick, Lynn and Abu and Demarco, and anyone else who'd ever made her feel cared for. Damn to hell everyone who'd abandoned her, and everyone she'd been forced to abandon.

She looked at Riddick, leaving again, and remembered long hours spent curled in this man's arms. _Tricks_, she thought. There was more than one way to bleed. She made her voice soft and tired, the way Jack's had been on that dark skiff.

"There was nobody else around."

He froze, and something twisted in her chest. She thought it might have been guilt, but it'd been so long she wasn't sure. And anyway, there was nothing to feel guilty for. He'd walked away from her. She had every right to do the same to him.

X


End file.
